Teen Idle
by nevergone4ever
Summary: "And I volunteer. To prove my worth, to prove them all wrong. To prove that I'm not stupid. That I'm more than a silly kid who giggles at the most dire of things. I volunteer to prove that I am the ultimate idle teen. Ironic, isn't it?" Welcome to the 100th Hunger Games!
1. Guilty Scars of the Troubled

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_**I was just a kid and you could not forgive me 'cause it's harder.  
**__**I was just a kid and all I really wanted was my father.**_

* * *

**Petra Cameron, 15, District Ten Citizen**

* * *

"Grandfather!"

The word comes easily to my lips as I rush over to the weathered old man, his wrinkled face conveying gratefulness as I help him off the ground. "Thank you, Petra," he croaks out in that familiar tone I've learned to adore. "Gardening's not the nicest job, but somebody's got to do it."

"Anything," I say eagerly, nodding.

His joints crackle as he eases himself off of the grassy slope, and once he's up, he coughs and adjusts his spectacles. "Shall we go inside, then? Your mother's probably cooking up some fried chicken, maybe some corn."

Together we walk inside our meager house, where the luscious scents of supper wrap around me. I allow my senses to take over, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. Not just fried chicken and corn, but a beef brisket, and fresh butter, and even cranberry sauce. It's a regular feast!

Mother moves to the side, her long brown skirt swinging as she allows Grandfather to move into the living room. "President Violette is going to announce the Quell in just a couple minutes," she says in a low tone so my younger siblings don't hear. "Everybody's gathered in the living room to watch it on television, but we have a bit of time. Currently, they're just having a quick interview with some victor from District One. Come, help me set the table."

I glance at the television, its bright screen illuminating the dark room. The glassy eyes of my younger sisters, Amelia and Laurel, are wide as they observe the people on screen. The baby, Jonas, lies sleeping in the arms of my grandmother. My father's thumbs are twiddling nervously as he stares blankly at the screen. Everybody's nervous, as am I.

Tesserae hasn't been brought up too many times around this household, but everyone knows that I take it. Not too much, about three or four a year, but that's just a couple extra slips in my name. Amelia the meek would never dream of it, where Laurel's a bit more daring. I'm sure that she's taken out at least one as well, so this year, at just twelve, she'll have her name in there two times at the least.

This year is a Quell, which could either be good news or bad for our family. Each time a Quarter Quell has been announced, our family has luckily been skipped over. We've never had an ancestor to go into the Games, and each night when I say my prayers, I can only pray that this year will be similar.

But it's an impending cloud over our heads nonetheless.

"She's talking!" shrieks Laurel, her already wide mouth stretching further.

"Get in here!" calls Amelia, her voice strained but still collected and calm.

I fight the funny feeling in my stomach as I make my way to the loveseat, taking a seat next to my father and Amelia and hoping, praying for good news.

"… _will be a year to remember, indeed_." The blurred, faded image of President Violette smiles in a funny sort of way, like she's uncomfortable. "And because of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the failed rebellion, I've decided to do something a bit different this year."

_No, really,_ I berate her silently. _It's a Quarter Quell, so why shouldn't everything be the same as last year?_

"This Quarter Quell is not to be selected at random," President Violette calls airily, waving her hand, festooned in a couple of simple golden rings. "I've created it myself, and special orders are to be made because of it." A faint smile drifts across her thin lips. "As you know, I am not the monster that my father was."

"And yet she allows these wretched Games to continue!" hisses my father, clenching his fists. "If she really cared about the districts, she'd let us go free, and leave our children alone!"

"Kaden," my mother soothes him with a gentle touch. "She says that they are a way for her to maintain control. We cannot help it. We _can't_."

My father's lips pucker for a moment, quivering in aftermath of his outburst. With an angry sigh, he collapses back onto the cushions.

President Violette's smoothing back a flyaway strand of hair with her long, pale fingers. "On the eve of the one-hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the failed uprising, a Quarter Quell is in order."

Knowing that the announcement comes next, my mother hugs Laurel to her chest tightly. Laurel squirms free, struggling to get a good glimpse at the small television.

President Violette raises her head, looking blank and almost bored. "On the eve of this Quarter Quell, a twist is to be incorporated."

"Spit it out already!" shouts my father, startling me.

"Kaden!" My mother glares at him, her gaze soon after whipping back to the television.

My throat is dry as the small woman on screen calls out in that melodic, serene tone of hers, "As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine."

_As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine._

_As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine._

_As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine._

It sinks in.

"M-M-Mother!" I scream, leaping up from my spot and trembling with joy. "We-We're _spared_!"

"We're spared!" shrieks Laurel and Amelia in close unison, their faces splitting into beams of pure joy and glee. "We're spared!"

I turn to my father, strands of wavy dark hair getting caught in my outstretched mouth. Fishing them free with my fingers, I assess his reaction. It's so dark I almost miss the crystalline tears that stream down his ruddy cheeks, bumping over his beard stubble and leaving streaks of saltiness. But I see them.

"Our children are safe for another year." His voice is shaky but relieved. "A-Amarin, our kids! They're secure, free!"

We're all swept up into hugs, arms wrapping around each other. I'm kissed on the cheeks multiple times, and in the corner, even Baby Jonas knows to gurgle in delight. And, with a couple of joyous tears marring my vision as I look over my grandfather's shoulder, I manage to make out President Violette on the screen. But instead of smirking quietly like I'd expected, she looks downright depressed.

And I swear she's looking directly at the camera, her piercing eyes never leaving mine. I'm snared in her gaze, unable to look anywhere but her. Even when my grandfather departs to hug somebody else and Laurel and my mother arrive, grinning like idiots, I can't stop staring at the television screen.

I'd be a _fool_ not to notice the purplish bruises, barely concealed by makeup, that stretch under the president's eyes, the lines at the corners of her thin pink lips.

"But this is not just any usual Reaping," she announces, her voice thin. "For each gender, instead of just one, there shall be three selected. Therefore, from each district, six tributes total shall be Reaped, in divisions."

I detach myself from Laurel and my mother and move closer to the television, as if enchanted.

"One division will be twelve, thirteen, and fourteen year olds." The president nods, her eyelids nearly shut as she examines the slip of paper. "That shall be Division One. For Division Two, there will be fifteen and sixteen year olds, and for Division Three, seventeen and eighteen year olds. Those who wish to volunteer are allowed to only in their allotted division."

"Interesting," I murmur to myself, the cogs of my mind whirling as my father drapes me in a hug. Divisions, she says? Who came up with that strange idea?

But tonight, it doesn't matter. Who am I to care about this woman, who throws twenty-four innocent children into an arena every year, where nearly all of them will die? Tonight, there will be a feast, dancing, maybe even a bit of wine if my mother can spare it.

Tonight, we will rejoice.

* * *

**A/N: Guilty by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**You know the drill, guys. Form's on my profile, no recycled or resubmitted tributes, no submissions through reviews, and please, please review if you do get a tribute in. But otherwise, well, yeah! I hope you enjoy.**

**Submissions opened two days early because I'm cool like that ;3 They close on January 30th. Should give you guys enough time to think of a cool tribute, write him (or her) up, and send 'er in!**

**Dropping a review on the prologue with your general thoughts is always nice. :)**

**\- nevergone4ever**


	2. Scars of the Guilty Mind

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_**Disregarded, overlooked, sinking lower and lower.**_

_**The shame erased my name and took my face and made it like the others.**_

* * *

**Lincoln Albea, 17, District One Mentor**

* * *

"Linc?"

Pelly's cautious voice pierces through the silent emptiness of my living room. I glance over to him, hands tightly wrapped around my warm mug of tea. "Yeah?" My voice cracks.

He offers me a sheepish smile, shuffling over in his baby blue pajamas and softly plopping down at the end of the sofa. His bold black glasses are crooked and askew on his nose. "Couldn't sleep," he mutters.

"Tough luck." I shake my head slightly. "Nervous for your first year of mentoring, then?"

"Yeah," he admits. His bleary eyes gaze out onto the glass coffee table. "With the Quell twist and all… I mean, there's more tributes to mentor."

"Don't worry about that." I shake that off with a dismissive wave of my hand. "I'm sure that Sheen, Teal, and Domika will pick up the extra tribute. You'll only have to worry with one, and if that's too much for you, one of us could mentor him or her."

"What do you know?" Pelly retorts quickly. "It's only your second year as a mentor, too!"

If I were Sheen, who's gentle and bumbling but firm, I'd chide him softly for lashing out. If I were Teal, who really is kind of stupid and cocky, I'd guffaw and slap his shoulder. If I were Domika, who's kind and good-hearted yet menacing, I'd glare till he apologized.

But no, I have to be an idiot and reply by smacking him across the face. Hard.

I hate being like this, so headstrong and impulsive.

Pelly squeaks out, his glasses toppling to the ground and a reddish mark rapidly appearing across his face. "What was that for?" he spits out, quickly collecting his dignity from his former squeaky self.

"Have respect for your elders, jerk."

"You're only two years older than me, idiot!"

We stare at each other for a long moment, me scowling and crossing my arms, and him rubbing his cheek and staring at me with tears brimming in his eyes, yet fury scrawled clearly across his face.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"I love you, Pelly."

"I love you too, Lincoln."

We embrace, and I feel the frail contours of his back, concealed in the thin blue pajamas. It's really a mystery how he even won his games, though they should be fresh in my mind. I mean, it was last year.

Ever since then, we've kind of been best friends. It's a love-hate relationship, really. We could never be more than that – oh, no, I only see him as a brother – but, not to sound cheesy or romantic or any sort of junk like that, but we were meant to be together as best friends. It was our destiny.

We click perfectly. We balance each other out, we know each others' strengths and weaknesses. I even remember when we were littler, perhaps in elementary school, seeing him glance at me and my too-tanned skin and overly puffy lips, and offering me a smile. I'm unorthodox looking, but that's the point, that's my niche.

That's partly why I volunteered, actually.

Even as a tiny twelve-year-old, I was sick of everything, the crap that people pull and the dramas that surround us in our daily world. I was tired of people. I wanted the world to go away. My parents? Who even knows who they are anymore! The few times that I was home and not sleeping over at a friends' house, my own parents were gawping at a blank television set, bottle in hand and room reeking of smoke.

They're too far gone. They failed in raising my littler sister. I'm not afraid to say it – she died. They tried to meld her into their world, and Sosha died. It was then, as a measly preteen, that I knew it was up to me to change my fate.

And even as a tiny twelve-year-old, I knew I was smart. I knew I had common sense and enough toughness and thick skin to stick it out.

So, when the Reaping day came, I'd pulled on a clean denim dress borrowed from a friend and sensible shoes, slipped my long brown hair into a giant ponytail, and marched down to the square.

And I volunteered, much to the shock and fury of my district. A tiny girl, taking the place of the much more experienced and elder girl, who was muscled and attractive and sure to become a victor? They thought I was so little, and idle, too. They'd never seen me in action. They didn't know my story.

I forgot some of what happened in that arena. But what I didn't forget were the emotions, things I like not to remember.

I vividly remember my token, though, a scrap of paper with a little poem of sorts that I had written down.

'_And I volunteer. To prove my worth, to prove them all wrong. To prove that I'm not stupid. That I'm more than a silly kid who giggles at the most dire of things. I volunteer to prove that I am the ultimate idle teen. Ironic, isn't it?'_

Pelly, surprisingly, was a similar story. He volunteered merely to escape his abusive brother. He wasn't looking to win. He was looking for an escape, and victory was merely a benefit.

He left his family behind, too.

That's what we're looking for this year, Pelly and me. We're looking for the toughest of the tough, those who aren't afraid to get their hands a little dirty in order to run from whatever demons that trail behind them.

Because everybody who volunteers, whether they know it or not, is leaving behind their troubles, the devils that plagued their everyday lives. And though the arena may offer a period of calm, there's always the storm that rages after the serenity.

And I hated that.

* * *

**A/N: Scars by Colton Dixon.**

**Hey, guys, didn't expect to see me so early, did you? ;o Thought you'd have a couple more days? Well, yeah, you do, actually. You have bunches. At least, if I don't get some more amazing tributes.**

**Here's the current list with tributes whose slots are accepted FOR SURE. If your tribute is on it… well, congrats :D Just updated the list with every single tribute, expect the third prologue SOON!**

**I just want to tell you all that, even though it may not seem so, every tribute has a chance. Male or female, district X or district Y, twelve or eighteen, doesn't matter. I've had a twelve-year-old victor, gaha. You have a chance with whatever slot you submit to!**

**And, well, yeah, that's all there really is to say! So without further ado, the list!**

**And by the way, dropping a review is always appreciated… hint, hint ;)**

* * *

_**District One – Luxuries**_

Div. One Male – Ferric Gauven (_District-11 Olive_)

Div. One Female – Lolita Trancy (_Blue Eyes Archangel_)

Div. Two Male – Peridot Midas (_Sovereign2_)

Div. Two Female – Sabryn Sinclair (_Call Me Fin_)

Div. Three Male – Merchandise Leighton (_BamItsTyler_)

Div. Three Female – Imani Veneur (_jakey121_)

_**District Two – Masonry **_

Div. One Male – Conner DeBlanc (_RainEpelt_)

Div. One Female – Loren Faust (_SomeDays_)

Div. Two Male – Akio Kurama (_kopycat101_)

Div. Two Female – Briana Valleri (_LokiThisIsMadness_)

Div. Three Male – Saturninus Lynch (_felicitea_)

Div. Three Female – Lynden Avior (_the Knife Throwing Expert_)

_**District Four – Fishing **_

Div. One Male – Salton Matinee (_Axe Smelling God_)

Div. One Female – Adriana Aquilare (_SpaceAgeDino_)

Div. Two Male – Leander Pelion (_bobothebear_)

Div. Two Female – Eira Valliere (_komiking_)

Div. Three Male – Jaiden Castiel (_addicted-to-my-reflection_)

Div. Three Female – Amalie Traselle (_Cashmere67_)

_**District Nine – Grain**_

Div. One Male – Rhett Valdez (_Aspect of One_)

Div. One Female – Cheyenne Macrae (_Elim9_)

Div. Two Male – Zane Ackerman (_Jalen Kun_)

Div. Two Female – Imogen Khareen (_magikmajic_)

Div. Three Male – Spiridon Floros (_TitanMaddix_)

Div. Three Female – Deverra Lisett (_Sunlight Comes Creeping In_)


	3. The Troubled Mind's Guilty Scars

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_**It's for the kids who have no self-esteem. They've got no concept of reality.**_

_**Living their lives inside a fantasy, inside their troubled minds.**_

* * *

**Juliet Violette, 60, President of Panem**

* * *

I set down the paper parcel.

Who are these people, thinking that they can blackmail the most important woman in Panem? Me. Their president, the one who is not nearly as cruel or harsh as their former leader.

I'm strict. I'm crude. I'm blunt. But aside from all that, nothing.

They don't deserve a response.

And yet, they got one.

I sigh, flipping a lock of blond hair over my shoulder and turning to my crystalline mirror. My pale eyes find my reflection and they graze over my pallid, chalky face. Over the bruises that line my eyes, barely covered by layers and layers of ashy makeup.

Nothing can conceal the memories.

I'm an old woman. I'm slowly passing my prime. I don't want to admit it, but it's true. It's obvious to me, with every crick in my back and crack in my throat.

And whoever my blackmailers are, they surely can see it as well.

I stare blankly into the mirror at the reflection of a woman who has become a stranger even to myself.

Placing a hand upon the metallic mirror and feeling the iciness coursing through my skin, I gently fold another hand over it, my eyes never leaving my reflection.

Was I a fool to agree to this Quell?

Or if I disagreed, would the blackmailers have done much worse?

The very thought makes me tremble.

* * *

**A/N: Troubled Minds by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**THE LBOG IS UP OWEHQDJKNVZX IM SO EXCITED?!**

**Okay, but in all seriousness, yes, I'm super excited for this story and the characters, oh, the tributes are going to be FAN-FRICKING-TASTIC. **

**So, well, yeah, you got a glimpse into what this Quell is about from the POV from the president, I tried not to make it super long mainly because I know by the second or third prologue people are dying to get at the tributes, so. **

**Here we go, yeah?**

**teenidlehungergames . blogspot . com**

**The link is also up on my profile, for those of you who are having trouble accessing it!**

**By the way, bobothebear is having a little SYOT, so for all of you who are cool, go check out Eternal Penance, maybe? ;3**

**Questions! :)**

**Thoughts on each tribute from the blog?**

**A chart of your favorites, neutrals, least favorites, etc.?**

**Who do you think is blackmailing the president?**


	4. Big Eyes

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_**Your world was burning, and I stood watching.**_

* * *

**Pelly Harrequin, District One, 15, Victor of the 99th Hunger Games**

* * *

"Look at all of them."

Lincoln's face is contorted with obvious distaste as she gazes out at the masses of children and teenagers, some of them even older than me. One particular, older boy looks at me with piercing blue eyes and glares ferociously.

Why are they mad at me, of all people? I was their victor. I brought them luxuries for a year. I frown back at him, pushing my glasses further up onto the bridge of my nose.

"I see," I say quietly. "They look… mad."

"They do every year," sighs Lincoln, fooling around with her ponytail. Her puffy lips are pouted with sadness. "I mean, you know how, like, a third of the district trains and all that. They devote their lives to these Games."

"Yes?"

"The other two thirds?" Her brown eyes gaze out listlessly. "They don't care about the Games, they only care about the protection that the other, eager kids bring them. They know that they're safe. And they flaunt it."

"Who do they flaunt it to?"

"You'd be surprised," Lincoln says.

I'm about to reply when up from behind Lincoln comes Domika, our fellow mentor. Ha, I speak like I'm seasoned at this. Perhaps I'm maturing faster than I originally thought…

Domika, at the prime age of twenty-four and obviously proper and sweet, gives me a gentle hug before embracing Lincoln, as well. "How are you two doing today?" she asks. "Gonna get all excited for the tributes?"

"For sure," I say blandly. I wave my hands around in vague excitement.

She looks at me for a moment. "I mentored you last year," she says quietly. "And you're already onto mentoring the next generation. I'm proud of you, Pelly."

I smile. "Thank you, Domika. Your praise means everything to me."

And it does. I've sort of formed her to be my mother, in my mind. The mother that I never had. I guess what they say is true, then; the victors really do wind up as a family.

They share experiences.

Our escort, clunky in her sparkling gold shoes and shimmering silver dress, mounts the stage and taps the microphone twice. Her eyes, done up in ridiculous amounts of charcoal-like shadow, glance over to us.

We're missing two?

Ah, but just as I realize it, over jogs Teal, his movements quick and jerky and his stupid smile just as wide and cocky as ever. "Hello, all." He's quick to greet us.

"Welcome," Domika says warmly, to which Lincoln and I awkwardly follow up with.

He sits down next to me, slapping my shoulder heartily, and our gazes rapidly fall upon Sheen. Stumbling across the stage blearily, her movements slurred and spasmodic, she finds us after a moment.

"Delly," she spits out, welcoming me first. She shoves forward her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I take it. It's wet and slimy.

She drunkenly staggers over to the other mentors to greet them, too, and Lincoln clings close to my side, her eyes wide and judgmental.

"I don't see how she brought three of us back," Lincoln hisses. I can only shrug.

Once our escort has confirmed that all of us are in our seats, she smiles, that one Treaty of Treason tape playing in the background. "Welcome, everybody!" she trills.

There's a collective murmur that runs through the crowd like fish through a stream.

"Ladies first. Now Reaping any females available, for Division One!" she announces, not even bothering to move over to the glass bowl that sparkles in the glamorous sunlight.

"I would like to volunteer!"

All eyes snap to a petite girl in back, who quickly scurries up before any other eligible ladies can jog to the stage. Once she halts at the stairs, I can easily see how doll-like and fragile she looks, with dark hair and wide eyes. A pink and white checked dress with a hair bow completes the look.

"Please state your name and age," the escort says, grinning.

"My name is Lolita Trancy," the little girl states simply. "I am fourteen."

Beaming, the escort rubs her hands together. "We have the lovely Lolita, then! Who would like to be her district partner, I wonder…? Division Two ladies, come on up-"

Before anybody can do anything, there's already a blond girl nearing the stage, a scowl placed on her tanned features. She strides up with confidence just radiating off her, and she grabs the microphone, albeit a bit crudely. A smile wavers on her lips as she says her name.

"Sabryn Sinclair. Sixteen."

Our escort attempts a hug, but Sabryn only stands stiffly, arms locked at her sides. "Alright, then," murmurs the escort. "Um, Division Three females…?"

There's no competition at all – a girl strategically placed near the stage, one foot already on the bottom stair, throws her hand up in the air. All eyes snap to her, and, acknowledging this, she grins and nods. Tossing a lock of dark brown hair over her shoulder, she climbs up to the stage and takes the microphone gently.

"My name's Imani Veneur," she announces melodically, her smile never fading. "And I'm eighteen."

The escort's beam only widens as Imani cordially walks over to Sabryn and Lolita to shake their hands. "District One, just _look_ at your females!" she cries out, nearly shuddering in delight.

I blink.

Cocking her head and placing a hand on her hip, she speaks into the microphone in a new, sultry voice. "Now, we Reap the Division One… _male_."

"I VOLUNTE-_EEEER_!"

A very loud shout with the voice cracking on the last word is screeched from the back. Jogging up with cheeks as red as a tomato is a small boy with surprisingly muscular arms. Leaping onto the stage with a sheepish grin, he leans into the escort, eyes straying to the audience.

"Ferric Gauven, age twelve. I'm gonna be your victor, everybody!"

The escort gasps in glee. "Well, aren't you just a darling, Ferric!" The small boy only shrugs and glances at his feet in reply, still displaying that same dazzling grin.

I don't think anybody else notices how suddenly flustered Sabryn looks.

"Now, District One, how about a Division Two male to accompany-"

And then there he is, a tall, blond fellow with a crooked pout and a thick brow. He ascends the stage with a quick stride and is over by the microphone before the escort has a chance to ask him of his name.

"I am Peridot Midas," he says, staring around the stage with a steely glare. His eyes rest upon me, and I shiver. It's people like him who make me feel unwanted in this district. "I am sixteen, on the cusp of seventeen."

A loud cheer begins through the audience in waves, starting from the front and dissolving into the back. But Peridot's eyes are locked in on a couple at the side, both of them embracing the other and gazing at the boy on the stage with misty eyes.

His parents?

"Lovely boy for a lovely Quell," the escort purrs out. She doesn't even have to say the last division because almost immediately…

"Hey!"

This time, the yell comes from the front, and the crowd splits apart to reveal a boy with clear skin and stunning grey eyes. A small smile is plastered onto his mug as he struts up to the stage, one hand on his hip and the other swaying casually.

"Are you volunteering?" The escort asks, a bit confused. This boy certainly doesn't look the type to run up, that's for sure. He's the kind of guy that you'd see in a clothing store, helping customers to find the perfect pair of pants.

"Yes, is there a rule against it?" he quips in a high-pitched voice. A small ripple of laughter flows through the audience, and he turns to the crowd, blinking. "My name is Merchandise Leighton, but you all can call me 'Merch'."

And then, the already effeminate boy takes her by the shoulders and air-kisses her.

"_Him_," comes the yelp from my side. All heads whip to see Teal, springing out of his seat and pointing to Merchandise, eyes wide. "I want to mentor _him_."

Lincoln dissolves into quiet laughter. "Well," she snorts, "looks like this will be a year to remember."

* * *

**Slate Bessarion, District Two, 46, Victor of the 71st Hunger Games**

* * *

"What a lovely, lovely day!"

From my side, my wife, Artemis shades her eyes and squints into the sun. "You could roast a turkey out here," I say in agreement.

"Or bake an egg!"

We look at each other – her deep blue eyes gazing deep into mine – and burst out laughing.

"Collect Deya for me, will you?" I say between chuckles, referring to our daughter. "Bring her to the stage for me. I want her to sit with me. It'll be such a thrill for her."

"Slate, she's twenty-nine!" chortles Artemis. "I doubt she'd get much out of it anymore."

I shake my head, smiling and shielding my eyes from the sun. "Whether she'd enjoy it or not, I want her to be up there with me. I'll let her pick the tribute I mentor. A Quell is special, Artemis, you know that."

"But so many gone from our district," she says in a hushed, muted tone. "So many more to _die_."

"Stop being such a pessimist, my dear!" I raise my voice, withdrawing from her a little bit. She watches me carefully. "Artemis, we have a good chance as any to win. These kids have trained, more so than any other district. We're known for our bulky victors. Krono and Lance, remember?"

Krono, meaning the mysterious, brooding child who volunteered a while back out of impulse. He later admitted he'd thought he was dreaming. Lance is the odd one of our victor group, with soft white hair and a soft smile. He's more gentle than any of us, Hestia included. How, exactly, he went to the plate and strangled four tributes with nothing but a serene expression on his face deserts me.

"Ah, and there they are now," Artemis says, obviously trying to avoid any sort of conflict. She breaks free of my hand and rushes forward, her crimson dress swirling in the light gales, and waves freely.

"Artemis!" Lance gasps, obviously happy to see her. He strides slowly – he doesn't run or even jog, he has this sort of staggering walk – and embraces her, a small smile stretching across his face.

Krono, behind him, examines his cuticles and mutters out a hello, pulling his beanie cap over his ears.

Both twenty years old, and yet, so different.

"Where's Helios and Hestia?" Artemis asks, pulling away from the chipper white-haired boy.

"Already on the stage," drawls Lance. He gestures to the square, where already flocks of children are gathering. He meanders out in front of us all, and Artemis and I trot after him. Krono, head hanging low, saunters after us.

Artemis rushes into the crowd to stand by Deyanira and her boy-toy of the week, while Krono and Lance trek up to the stage with me.

"Slate," Hestia greets me first, a beam plastered onto her face. She hugs me. Always the motherly one, she is. "How's Artemis? How's Deyanira? How's the grandkid?"

"I'm not a grandfather yet!" I yelp, a strange feeling spreading through me. "I'm only forty-six!"

"Then it's prime time to get Deyanira joined up with a handsome fellow," Hestia coos, batting her eyelashes sweetly. "Maybe that 'Verde' guy she's been hanging out with, mm?"

"Getting in on my daughter's social life?" I snort, shaking my head in amusement. "Slow news day, huh?"

"You don't know half of it," she giggles.

We all take our seats after some more banter, and once the Treaty of Treason video has played, our escort, Whim, struts up to the microphone. It's draped elegantly with shimmering scarves and ribbons.

One word comes out of her mouth.

"Female?"

And, then, the stereotypical, yet classic…

"I volunteer!"

First come, first serve, right?

No. District Two is rowdy, and we don't care about rules. Nobody does. None. Not a single person.

"No, _I_ volunteer!"

"Get out of the way, dolt!"

"Get a-away!"

"STOP SCRATCHING ME!"

Multiple voices are heard above the chaos, but one stands out the most. It's a careful tone, shouted with the right amount of volume, and yet a certain amount of nervousness, probably fear of not being accepted.

The owner of the voice slips under a tussle of girls and leaps onstage, her eyes frenzied and brown hair slightly messed up. "Hi," she says to the escort.

"Hello," Whim replies, eyes widening in interest. "And you are…?"

"Lynden Avior," says the girl, flicking her hair and smiling over at us. Her eyes are warm and friendly and suggest she's no big threat. But looks can be deceiving. I might not have proved that, but there are loads of victors who did indeed. "I'm seventeen, so I'm in Division Three."

"Splendid," coos the escort, toying with a lock of Lynden's hair. She then turns to the audience of children and parents and everyone in between. "Did you hear that, ladies? Only Divisions One and Two left up for grabs!"

While the masses of girls squabble for the prized place, one girl shoots out of her section and streaks towards the stage in an unattractive fashion. She springs onto the stage, panting dramatically and placing a hand to her chest.

"B-Briana Valleri," she spits out into the microphone, managing to muster up a smile. She places a hand on her hip and tosses her hair in a similar fashion to Lynden. "I am sixteen."

"_Briana_!"

Right away, there's an eighteen-year-old guy struggling in the crowds of males, his face streaked with desperation and need. I silently shake my head. We've seen this too much lately. Somebody volunteers, leaving behind the person who needs them most. It only proves that the tribute is selfish and self-absorbed.

Somehow, I'm always stuck with that tribute.

A small girl hops onstage, unseen by everybody until now. She must have been slinking up to the stage as Briana and Whim spoke. She tugs the sleeve of the escort and offers a small smile. "Hi," she says, introducing herself. "My name is Loren Faust, and I'm thirteen, but just as much victor material as these two."

"Did we hear you volunteer?" Whim asks, puckering her lips.

"I did," Loren replies, pinching the dull purple material of her dress, "I kind of stammered at first, and you might have heard that, or you might have not since I was all the way in the back, but, um, here I am now."

"Wonderful," Whim says, looking her up and down.

Loren actually doesn't look too scrappy for a littler kid. She's got a decent amount of muscle for a preteen, and her eyelashes are so long. The only downfall is how short she is – only up to Briana's shoulder – but I'm sure we could play that off as being cute and adorable, not a weakness.

See, this is the type of tribute I _want_ to mentor.

Tapping the microphone, Whim clears her throat. "Come on, now. Males, males, males. I know you're out there."

And, instead of the girls, there's only a small tussle. Two boys, each at the front of the crowd, both holler out the simple, yet treasured words.

The first one, tall, slim, and blond, starts jogging up front, obviously unaware of the other male. Meanwhile, the second one, dark-skinned with a bulky body, starts treading up with his eyelids at half mast. Swinging his arms carelessly and swaying his head to an imaginary beat, he starts sauntering down the aisle.

And then, the second one notices the first.

He _freaks_ out. He lets out a dogged whoop and surges forward, eyes bulging out of their sockets and arms pumping. By now the slim blond has noticed him, too, and his pace picks up.

But alas, the second boy's already reached the stage, his cool, calm façade shattered. He slinks up to the microphone and grabs it roughly.

"Take _that_, Finnigan!" he hisses out in a booming voice, raising one finger to the retreating boy.

Whim is unamused. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Little old me?" he chuckles, his eyelids slipping back down so he's leering at her. "Saturninus Lynch. But since we're friends you can call me Lynch."

"Lynch." Any trace of a smile on Whim's face is gone. "Um, pleasant."

I also like people like him, who aren't afraid of a little comedy every so often. The only thing about him is that he seems too reckless and impulsive. That could turn out to be a problem.

"Males for any division other than- um, his?"

"Me! Me! _I_ volunteer!"

A youthful cry erupts over the rest and over the steps comes hurtling a boy with messy dark hair, bright eyes, and tanned skin. He hops over to the microphone, flashing a sheepish smile. "I seem to have tripped."

"Your name?" Whim asks, curling her lip. Nothing against the boys, of course – she's just sexist. Personally, I think that this new arrival seems fascinating.

"Akio Kurama," he announces, thrusting a fist into the air and beaming. "Proud to represent Two, both the division and district!"

And then, much to my surprise – I'm being sarcastic – there's another scrimmage in the back, while the older tributes, upset that they missed their shots, stare tiredly at them. An extremely tall, sweating boy bursts forward, followed by a small herd of males behind him, all of them shrieking.

But then…

"_THERE'S A BOMB!"_

The scream overpowers the rest, and the tributes that were running stop abruptly, their heads whipping around to survey for said bomb. The small figure that darts past them doesn't go unnoticed, and the perspiring boy in front gives a frustrated grunt that he was so easily fooled.

The figure makes his way to the stage, revealing his face with a small smile. "My name is Conner DeBlanc." He nods in our general direction and shakes Whim's hand. "Pleased to meet you, even if it's under these, um, circumstances."

A smirk crawls up my face as I survey the six tributes – Lynden, Briana, Loren, Lynch, Akio, and Conner – and the familiar fluttering of hope begins, deep in my stomach. We _do_ have a stupendous chance this year. And we _will_ bring home a victor.

* * *

**Mysti Renier, District Four, 27, Victor of the 91st Hunger Games**

* * *

It looks like the kids this year are ready to fight.

As an introvert myself who barely spoke ten words in her victory interview yet had the guts to poison all three of my allies, I can safely observe that. There's four dueling boys, shirtless and growling, and some more children cheering them on. Of course, when I stroll by, they briskly stop and offer me their clammy hands. I smile, gently shaking each of them in turn.

It's nice to have a district with such chivalry. I can only hope that the beads of water on their chests are from rain, not sweat.

I walk myself up to the stage, my grey jacket tightly wrapped around my chest. I'm the first one at the victor's circle – good, I enjoy being punctual. I sit down gently, my pale hair whipping around in the bitterly cold wind.

Calder's the next one to arrive, and he greets me with a huge beam. I pat the chair next to me and he sits, albeit a little restlessly. "I'm happy," he says immediately.

"Because of the Reaping?"

"No, not that…" he covers his mouth briefly, eyes lit up with glee. "Kratt asked me out. Finally."

"I'm so happy for you," I reply, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my body. "You really like him, don't you?"

Calder kisses his fingertips and stretches his arm out to the swirling storm. "Adore him," he announces without a care, a goofy grin overpowering himself. He can't help it. "And I didn't have to do anything but a little heavy-duty flirting!"

I smile, pulling him into a gentle hug. "Who knows? Maybe something truly great could come out of this!"

"Holding out hope would be nice," he responds, snuggling tighter into his oversized jacket.

Lana Fidelis is the next victor to join us, a scowl prominent on her face. She nods gruffly at me and Calder before sitting primly on the edge of her seat.

"Good morning, Lana!" sings out Calder. "It's a great-"

"Put a cork in it," Lana spits, fiery even to her elders. She crosses her arms and glares out at the masses of children. "Another Reaping, another failure year for me."

"You're nineteen," I say gently. "In your defense, you've only mentored one other year."

"But I failed that year, did I not?" Lana growls to me, her hazel eyes dark and angry. I've learned over the four years I've spent living next to her that it's good just to leave this girl alone. She can deal with her own problems. But this? This isn't just a trouble for her, it's one for every victor. We all know the frustration of getting a tribute far – to the finale, even – and watching them perish without a trace, when they could have been so much more than just another forgotten face.

Nuke and Annie arrive together, the latter looking considerably peppy. They sit down, greeting me with enthusiastic words. It's nice to see them out after they've not mentored for so long. It's been me and Nuke for a while, and then me and Calder. Lana took Calder's slot a few years back and never mentored again.

"Look at the escort this year," I giggle, watching the blond man take the stage. Johan, is his name?

"He's not as good as _my_ boyfriend," Calder says haughtily.

Johan has a sassy tone and dark eyes that beseech the kids. He's very attractive, actually, not one of the bubblegum-y escorts that seem to hover around District Four.

"Let's go with…" he taps his slender fingers on the handle of the microphone in a bored fashion, his eyes gazing out into the crowd. He then speaks in a rapid tone. "_Division-One-Male_!"

"Me!"

The first shout that pierces the air is located near the middle, and no voices come after it. We're a polite district, after all.

The boy races up, a cheeky grin plastered onto his chin. He strides up the steps suavely, tipping a small bowler hat to Johan. "My name…" he pauses for effect, eyes dreamily gazing out at his peers. "is Salton Matinee."

"What a chic name," Johan says tiredly. He swivels back to the microphone. "Hm, Division Three female?"

This time, there's no words uttered – our mannerly district figures out who will be the volunteer beforehand, in some cases, to avoid unnecessary conflict. This is one of the cases.

The girl is slender, with clear grey eyes and bouncy brown curls. Waving the skirt of her baby blue dress a little, she mounts the stage gently and smiles down at everybody in an air of responsibility.

When she opens her mouth, it is clear that's not the case.

"I-I-I'm Amalie. Amalie T-Traselle?"

Her fingers lace together and her hands shake. Her lips quiver and she quickly hurries behind Salton, hiding her face behind a curtain of brown hair. I pout, feeling sorry for the poor young girl.

"Division _Two_ male!"

A light clapping of shoes against concrete, now. From four or five different spots, young boys burst out of their spots in the crowd. Some glance at the competition and back off completely. One is stopped abruptly by a crying girl – most likely a sister or girlfriend.

One is left. He has rosy cheeks, pale skin, and the same nervous expression that Amalie wore.

The microphone pressed against his thin lips, he smiles grimly at the crowd, obviously tense and nervous. "Leander P-Pelion," he stammers out, fiddling with the bottom of his olive green sweater. "Representing the boys aged sixteen. Oh, and the fifteen-year-olds, too."

His smile grows more natural as the spotlight shifts from him.

"Division One female, come on up!"

This time, contrary to the usual peaceful serenity of the Reaping, there's a loud brawl in an aisle. Two girls, strikingly identical in their facial structures and overall appearances, tussle with each other, both grunting and screaming at each other. Obviously, one of them is the chosen volunteer. But who?

I pick apart a few differences between them – one has a ponytail and a sea green tank top. The other, straggly blond hair with a cream peplum blouse. Their cheeks are both rosy as strawberries, their mouths outstretched into hollers.

"Let me get up there!"

"No! You're not going! You absolute _fool_!"

"Stop it, Marina!"

"You aren't stealing this from me, Adriana!"

Adriana and Marina. What pleasant names.

But then another girl appears out of nowhere, with a pale face and red hair. She quickly grabs the wrists of the girl with the ponytail and contains her while the girl with the peplum blouse dashes up to the stage, a tear streaking down her cheek.

She takes the stage quickly, trying to groom herself by patting her disheveled hair down and pulling at her top. Her eyes, fiery with a caged determination, swivel over to me, and I instantly know that this is the girl I want to mentor.

"I'm Adriana Aquilare." Her breath ghosts over the microphone. "… I'm sorry." She then scampers to her spot next to Leander, gnawing on her lip.

"Cool," Johan comments. "Hm, let's see, who have we yet to pick… Division Three male!"

Broad, heavy footsteps from the front of the crowd makes everybody glance over to the boy. He's quite tall and dashing, an overbearing grin tainting an otherwise serious face. He's muttering something, and from what I can tell from his lips, it's a sort of poem.

He swoops down to the microphone once he arrives onstage, and I can hear the last few bars of his strange ode.

"…My cries are silenced by the waves around me, I no longer struggle. My home," he breathes, his beady brown eyes gazing over everything, "is this cold sea."

"Pleasant," Johan snarks. "And your name?"

The boy locks his spine rigidly and drags the microphone dramatically up to his lips. "Jaiden Castiel," he growls out in a husky tone. "Not to be cocky or drab, but I'm a real… _fright_ to have."

Johan watches as he retreats to be with his district partners. His lip curls and he wipes his sleeve on the microphone. "Yes, then, um, the remaining slot… Division Two female?"

Claps erupt from the middle section as a blond girl struts out. But once she shows her face, giggling and grinning, it's clear that the applauders are not clapping out of pride and joy for her and District Four – they're clapping because they don't like her. Multiple times on her way to the stage, somebody spits out an insult at her – once or twice, somebody literally spits.

So much for politeness and chivalry!

She takes the stage, pulling down her tight white tank top and shrugging her shoulders at the people who jeered at her. "My name is Eira Valliere," she says in a flippant tone. She tosses her thick blond hair over a shoulder and looks down her nose at the beaming attackers.

How interesting this group of tributes is! We have Salton, quite the little showman. There's Amalie, a bit nervous right now, but with time, she'll bloom. Leander's already discarded his scared emotions, replaced by curiosity and zeal. We have Adriana, bound to be interesting with her freak volunteering. Jaiden with his poems are definitely going to be something to watch. And then there's Eira, who I'm not quite sure what to make of yet.

Whatever the case, this year will be… odd.

* * *

**Roland Sanders, District Nine, 49, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games**

* * *

Another year of sadness. Another year of tainted hope.

Desolately gazing across the square, I watch as kids mingle and talk quietly amongst themselves. Somewhere in there are the thirty kids that come to me for training lessons. I can only hope that they'll volunteer this year, that they'll understand that they're the best shot we have got to regain our pride.

District Nine hasn't had a victor since me. That's thirty-two years ago. That's just depressing.

About five years back, when two very strong tributes went down in the bloodbath, something clicked inside me. I was motivated to follow in the footsteps of District Four, which rose from ashes to become a Career district long ago.

At first it was four kids, bored and tired of the same old redundant life. They were confused when I handed them the sickles and scythes. And at first, they were terrible with the weapons, I'll admit. But with time and energy spent, I educated more and more students. I never did lose my touch with a scythe, after all.

And now, my class count has grown to around thirty, of all ages, of all personalities and appearances. It keeps on growing, too. Just a week ago I added two new kids, slender and well-fed sixteen-year-old twins.

It's really quite refreshing to see how eager everybody is. They know it. They think that we have a chance this year, even if in my eyes, it's hopeless. But I continue training them – why?

Maybe I want to do something good for my district. Maybe I want another victor to help me train the kids. Maybe I'm sick of seeing the same jaundiced expressions gazing listlessly out at me each year as they are Reaped. Maybe I want to improve things.

I always was a do-gooder.

A sudden hacking noise from behind me makes me jump before whirling around, immediately knowing who it is. Olivander, my fellow mentor and partner in crime.

"Are you alright?" I shout, knowing that hearing is hard on his nearly-deaf ears. I trot over to him, taking his arm and guiding him gently to a chair.

"F-F-Fine," he stammers out, eyes frantically rolling in their sockets. He's buzzed up. Again.

"You're not fine," I hiss, thrusting a hand into my pocket, rummaging around, and withdrawing a simple blue pill. They were prescribed to Olivander a few months ago, but as he proved that he couldn't take care of them himself, I took over.

They calm his nerves, basically. It doesn't erase the drugs in his system, nor the caffeine, but it relaxes him and that's good enough for me.

I slip it into his mouth and he swallows the pill on reflex. I know that it will take a while to work, but it's again, good enough for me.

The escort comes onto the stage and taps him on the head, flicking her bubblegum pink curls to the side. "Nice to see you two again," she comments gravely. "I believe you remember me? Tripoli?"

"Yes, Tripoli. I remember you." I smile, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Olivander does, too-"

"What a p-pretty girl," Olivander stutters out, watching Tripoli with unfocused eyes. He slinks forward, tugging on a lock of her pink tresses and smiles sickly. "I think-"

"We'd best be leaving," I cut him off, forcing him back into his chair. "Nice to see you again, though, Tripoli! I expect we'll be talking more on the train."

The escort flounces to the microphone and I try to contain Olivander as he attempts to lurch out of his seat to follow her.

"What a nice day to Reap some kids," Tripoli comments, shrugging as she moves to the glass bowls, taking the microphone with her. "I'm not one to beat around the bush. Let's start with males for a change."

She plunges her hand in the bowl, as if expecting nobody to volunteer, but contrary to her expectations…

A scream comes from the front section, and following the noise comes a bulky guy, surging forward with a stoic expression. I recognize him immediately as one of the kids I work with, excelling in particularly the area of combat, not so much the agility bit.

"Spiridon Floros," he announces once he's face-to-face with the microphone. A small smile breaks through his stony exterior and he nods to me curtly, eyes shining.

Tripoli smiles bleakly, patting him on the shoulder. Pat, pat. "Good to see such an enthusiastic young man," she says. "What division are you representing, Spiridon?"

"Division Three!"

"Lovely," replies the escort briskly, dipping her hand into the glass bowl again. This time, she's quick and actually manages to pull out a slip of paper before… not the cry of a volunteer, but panting. Heavy breathing and loud footsteps as a boy tears down the aisle to the stage, eyes frenzied and wide.

Jumping directly onto the stage, he stumbles a little, which causes the audience to laugh a bit. But once he stands still, the laughter grows to a louder volume – the kid's wearing pajamas with frogs and ducks on them!

Aside from his preposterous clothing, he has a serious case of messy hair, paired with a bandage adorned on his cheek, although there's not a scratch on his body. Strange. He's not a kid I've ever seen. Does he even live in this district?

"Zane Ackerman," he says gently into the microphone, smiling a little. "I'm in Division Two."

His grin only grows wider as the children laugh more and more, and he even finds it in him to give a little bow. Tripoli, however, is not amused.

She plunges her hand into the glass bowl once the laughter dies down due to her stern expression, and she's reading off the name when, from the back of the crowd, comes a raucous shriek.

Or maybe it's the sound of a dying crow. Either way, it's quite loud.

Squirming free from the kids, I see movement. A kid with a head of sandy hair and a round head emerges, a Cheshire smile on his mug. He throws his arms up in the air and does a quick little shimmy, dancing down the aisle the entire way, never once giving up that overjoyed expression.

More laughter comes from the children as the boy changes tactics, opting to grab some girl's yellow umbrella and hold it out in front of him as he taps his feet rapidly on the ground. A hat is thrown at him, a sunhat with pink flowers adorned on it, and he gladly plops it on his head, bobbing his head to an imaginary beat.

Sadly, his little dance number is given up as a Peacekeeper starts treading behind him, flashing a taser. The boy yelps slightly and, throwing the umbrella to the ground, streaks towards the stage.

He shows his face more clearly, and I inwardly groan. I remember this guy. He showed up to a couple of my lessons, yammered on about how useless they were, and then begged for me to teach him how to use a sickle.

"Rhett Valdez is my name!" he cheers to the beaming crowd of kids and parents. "I'm _overjoyed_ to represent you all!"

Tripoli even cracks a smile. "How lovely," she coos softly, fingering the brim of the floppy sunhat and moving to the second glass bowl.

This time, the person who jogs up isn't loud or comical. Simply moving quickly with a neutral expression on her face and her dark hair flying free in the soft gales, she takes the stage quietly.

I remember her, too. She's been a regular at my lessons.

"Imogen Khareen," she says with an air of finality. "Division Two."

Almost robotic in how she says it, her eyes are like marbles, not really staring at anything but the escort. They're focused, yet wavering just a tad.

Yet, I appreciate how she doesn't show off her weakness. Trying to put up a calm, smooth façade is wonderful for her reputation.

Tripoli smiles gently at her, obviously grateful that she didn't put on too much of a show. Her hand dunks into the bowl, only to be met with the strong, confident, surprisingly husky voice that shouts-

"I volunteer."

I immediately place her. One of my top students. Her blond hair flows after her as she strides up to the stage, not wasting any time in shaking the escort's hand and announcing her name proudly.

"Deverra Lisett. Division Three, _obviously_."

I smile at her, and she replies with a toss of her thick hair.

Tripoli gazes at the five tributes standing before her. "And now, the final tribute," she mutters into the microphone, her hand slipping inside the glass bowl, but her eyes trained on the audience, as if she expects some youthful girl to come careering up.

But nobody comes.

She withdraws a slip, unfurling it dramatically, as if giving any potential volunteers time to saunter up to the stage. But again, the only sound is the thin whistle of the wind.

"Cheyenne Macrae?"

Gasps erupt from the back. Kids move towards each other, all their heads turned in the same direction – to a slender, petite girl with dark hair.

Shock registers on her face. Her head whips from side to side, her features rapidly crumpling up. It's clear that she's waiting for somebody to volunteer, but nobody does. There's no one for her.

A girl behind her slinks up and offers her a push, and Cheyenne topples forward, quickly regaining her balance and, trembling, walks up to the stage. Her hands fiddle with her maroon cardigan. A crystalline tear leaks out of her eye.

Once she's onstage, lips parted and eyes filled with worry, is when Olivander leans into me. "I know we divide t-tributes up equally-" obviously, the blue pill is slowly taking effect- "but I want her. Cheyenne. She's mine."

"Fine by me," I murmur. "I think that I'll take more of the stronger ones, but you can have Spiridon, if you like. He's educated enough."

"I'll have Cheyenne and him a-and you can have the r-rest," Olivander says, nodding. "Look at us, R-Roland. We've got such a chance this year."

A chance.

It's nice to have, really.

Another victor would be such a miracle.

* * *

**A/N: Big Eyes by Lana del Rey.**

**Hey, all. So we've finished the Reapings, isn't that fantastic? :) You got a glimpse of all the mentors, as well, and the first peeks at the tributes. Pretty fine, yes?**

**Alright, nothing much more to say other than my format for this story will be identical – or at least, pretty much the same – as Contrary, so if you wanna check the format out for that, cool. Eight tribute POV's for each Capitol chapter, and then interviews and a launch chapter. Rad.**

**Oh, and an update on the blog. I've updated Adriana's picture, since some couldn't see it too well, and I've also tweaked Spiridon's quote just a tad, to avoid any offense.**

**Question time for y'all :O**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Which tributes stood out?**

**Which mentors stood out?**

**General thoughts?**


	5. Without Me

.

_**Now this looks like a job for me, so everybody just follow me.  
'Cause we need a little controversy, 'cause it feels so empty without me.**_

* * *

**Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two**

* * *

"This is an interesting group."

I scowl at Domika as she smiles, gazing over everybody. "So we've got four extra tributes than is the norm. What's the problem with that? It's a Quell." The words are spat out of my mouth.

Sheen glares at me while Domika chuckles unpleasantly. "Um, calm down, Sabryn. I was just saying. No need to get defensive."

"I, for one, think that this is a great group," Ferric pipes up, and my stomach twists.

This was supposed to be my opportunity to escape, to become a new person where nobody knew me. Ferric might be one of ten people who actually knows who I am. That's a huge drawback.

I mean, we're not close or anything. I barely know the kid other than he's my little brother's best friend. But he was at my house a ton. He saw me sobbing when my boyfriend broke up with me. He was there every single weekend when I came downstairs, grinning happily. He knew who I was. He knows the real me.

I hate it.

And yet I put on a blank face for the group, because as much as Ferric might know me for who I am, these people don't.

A fresh start – or almost.

"So, when do we get to eat around here?"

Ferric again.

"Anytime," replies Sheen, belching the word out. She rises unsteadily, gestures for us to follow, and traipses down the hall to the dining car.

It's nothing special – just a large room with tables, wide windows, and large selections of different food – but it sure smells fantastic. Tantalizing savory sauces, sweet jams, and multiple different casseroles blended together.

"Dig in, and collaborate with your given mentors," our screechy escort advises as she plucks a small crescent roll from a nearby table.

I sit down delicately in a booth and grab a sugar-encased pastry from the table. But I don't eat it, I roll it around and around in my hands until they're coated in sticky sugar paste. Sheen plops down at the seat across from me and digs into a bowl of gloppy cream-colored pudding.

"So, kid," she says cheerfully. "Shall I get to know ya?"

"I'm Sabryn," I say, wiping my hands clean on a napkin. "You do remember my name, right? You're mentoring me, after all."

"Right, right. Just wondering if you had a nickname or something."

"You seem to have taken up calling me 'kid'," I grumble out.

"I call everybody that." Sheen leans back, eyes flickering around the room, where the other tributes have already taken up talking to their own respective mentors. "Some special people get the honor of being called 'pal' or 'harpy'."

"Harpy?"

"Yeah, it's like some old mythical bird granny," she replies flippantly. "Anyways, we digress. Back to you. Any dark secrets that you wanna get out into the light?"

"Not quite?" I wince slightly, quickly masking that grimace with a snooty frown. I'm aware that it's condescending, but this is Sheen, the drunk old bat who basically slurs her words and claps at the Reapings. I don't care what she thinks of me. It's not her funeral. "I'm an open book, to be perfectly honest."

Sheen chuckles with her mouth closed, creating a freaky sound. "Nice, I've heard that story fifteen hundred times before. I want to know all about you. Honestly. What do you have to lose?"

"What do you mean?" I have to admit, my curiosity has been perked.

"I'm your mentor. Even if you're trying to put on a show for the Capitol and the districts, I'll help you with it. I need to know as much about you as I possibly can." Her hand grips my wrist and she stares at me. "I am one hundred percent on your side, Sabryn. Trust me."

I stare at her hand next to mine, flecked with sugar still from my pastry. I swallow thickly. Do I trust her? I've never been the best at making decisions, honestly.

Why not? It's not like she'll be there in the arena, anyways.

"Sure," I say finally, gently removing my wrist from her hand and tucking it underneath the table. "I'm just kind of afraid, you know?"

"How so?"

I make sure the people at the next table aren't listening, before leaning in close and whispering, "I'm actually not as smart as I seem."

"I can collect that much," Sheen snorts appreciatively. "I didn't think you were of the intelligent type."

"Thanks so much," I bite back bitterly, "but on any rate, I think I might need your help on some alliances."

"I can definitely help with that," my mentor says warmly. "Do you want to look here, with _theeeeeeese_ tributes?" She belches, gesturing wildly to my district partners scattered around the dining car.

"Maybe?" I shrug helplessly, hoping I don't look too much like a lost puppy. "I don't know, what do you suggest?"

"District partners are the way to go," Sheen chortles. "To be fair, we haven't had much work with them because we've already had a ready-made Career pack, but this year everybody's branching off in different groups, of course."

"Who should I work with here, then?" I peek furtively over the top of the booth, glowering at Lolita, who dares glance at me.

"I suggest Peridot, maybe?" Sheen smiles wisely. "He seems pretty strong without being over-the-top, with division and all. You two might click, who knows?"

"Peridot…" A smile accumulates on my face before I can help it, but I quickly wipe it off with a scowl. "I actually like that idea."

Peridot. Yes.

And as my gaze flickers over to the blond boy, nibbling down on a turkey leg delicately, the idea becomes better and better in my mind.

I _like_ it.

* * *

**Conner DeBlanc, District Two, Division One**

* * *

"Hi, my name's Loren!"

The chipper voice pierces the silence and I look up in slight irritation from my book. Books are great. They forgive you and they never change. I don't like people so much, like this Loren kid.

She pokes her nose over my shoulder, long eyelashes fluttering and lips parting in a pert smile. "What are you reading, huh?"

I slowly slide the book so she can see better. "It's not much, just something that Helios gave me to read and interpret while on the train. It's about a whale and a fisherman."

"Sounds interesting," Loren chirps, taking a seat across from me. Her smile beseeches me. "Did you ever want to move to District Four or something like that?"

"Not especially," I grumble. "Can I just get back to my book?"

"Sorry, no." Her forehead crinkles as she laughs. "We were paired with Akio for a little group exercise thing, Lance said. It's supposed to test our dynamics as allies!"

"I already know who I want for an ally," I reply grumpily, a bit upset that this girl just walked over and practically threw herself at me. "And it's most decidedly not you."

Loren looks at me, slightly intrigued, almost. "You sure talk weird, all those big words." She swipes my book away from me, props it on the chair next to her, and offers a wink.

"It merely shows intelligence," I reply sourly. "It's better than using bad grammar like the uncultured swine of Two. Now, where's Akio?"

"Here!"

In swoops in the chipper boy with a serious case of bedhead. He plops down next to Lauren, giving her a friendly pat on the head, before excitedly wiggling and looking at me, mouth quivering as if in the aftermath of a cry. "Hello," he greets me warmly. "You're Conner, I know that much!"

"Smart one, aren't you," I reply dryly, looking him up and down. He's jittery. Seems pretty childish. He'll be a fun one.

"I can get us some _refreshments_!" he cries, hopping out of his seat and scampering over to a table with some food items on it. He swipes a plate of small sandwiches and a little bowl of red juice, then hurtles back over to us.

It takes exactly three seconds for him to run directly into a chair and spill all the drink and sandwiches all over himself.

I groan silently, looking longingly at my book.

In darts Lance, his eyes wide and frazzled. "What was that crashing sound?" He drawls, somehow still managing to sound panicked.

Loren giggles, pointing to Akio.

"H-He did it!" stammers out Akio, in turn pointing to me.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I quickly stand up, glaring. "I did?!"

"See, look, he confessed!"

"I want each of you to calm down," Lance tries, but I can't help myself from striding over to the food table, grabbing a napkin, and angrily scrubbing at my shoes from where the juice splashed onto them. Loren's cackling laughter in the background, combined with Akio's whiney, accusatory tone, and Lance's frantic chattering, create quite the sound that I'm not a fan of.

Throwing the napkin to the ground in utter disgust of the uncivilized hogs I'm surrounded by, I storm into the next train car.

This one is a lot better. In this one, chatting quietly and giving off the occasional laugh, are Briana, Lynden, and Saturninus – the boy whom I refuse to call him 'Lynch'.

I take a seat next to Lynden, who looks at me in a dazed, kind of surprised way. "You're Conner, right?" she says. "You kind of hung in the background when we were all talking earlier."

"I prefer to observe," I respond.

"Big words for a little man," Saturninus comments.

"I'm little in stature but my personality is great." I pause for effect. "Or, rather, that's what my parents say."

"They must be big back in the district, huh?" He claps my back and I'm forced forward, but I quickly act like it's not a big deal.

"My father, at least." I sigh. "My mother is what you all would call a 'party girl'. She's nothing but a child at heart. My father, however, he's the real breadwinner of the family." I smile, content with the memories that his name brings. "I miss him, even now."

"An hour in and the little one can't take it."

That's the first time Briana has spoken, and I'm not sure I like her tone. Instead of piping up and making myself a lethal enemy on day one, I merely ignore her, throwing an exasperated smile at Saturninus and Lynden. I don't quite like the people here, but these two seem to be alright.

"Are you excited for the Games, little buddy?" Saturninus coos down at me.

Scratch that. I like Lynden, and Lynden only.

And yet I suck it up and manage to come up with a good reply, because, well, I know how to be better than those who look down upon me. Literally, the man's a beast.

"I'm quite excited," I answer flippantly, nodding. "I have all the skills necessary to become a true victor like those who have come before us."

Behind me, Lynden grins and squeezes my arm. "Good for you, Conner. You really have drive."

Drive, indeed. Over the years I've accumulated so much motivation and intelligence, that even in the arena with hulks like Saturninus, I fully believe in my skills and ability to come out and reign as victor.

"Thank you, Lynden." I smile. "Thank you."

* * *

**Adriana Aquilare, District Four, Division One**

* * *

Eyes widened to enhance my sight in the dark, I slink along the hallway.

I couldn't sleep – physically couldn't. It was like I had chugged twelve energy drinks in one sitting. The split second my eyelids fluttered shut, they bounced back open with intensity. I figured the best thing I might as well do is go down to the dining car and have an early-morning snack, maybe meditate a bit.

On the way to the dining car, I half-turn my head to the window and see a beautiful view that I must stop by and glance at.

"We're almost to the Capitol." A smile rises to my lips and I gently graze my fingers against the chilly window pane, gazing out at the tendrils of pink and orange that are beginning to creep across the blackened sky.

A chuckling sound coming from behind me makes me whip around, heart suddenly thumping. It's only Mysti, though, my mentor.

"Oh, hello, Mysti," I say happily, embracing her quickly. "Did you see the lights yet?"

"I love watching the sunrises, yes." A faint smile crawls onto her face. "I have a liking for beautiful things."

I laugh hoarsely, sliding into a chair. "The arena won't hold many beautiful things for me, I'm afraid."

"I was going to ask you last night about that," she says, taking a seat beside me. "Why did you volunteer, Adriana? You scuffled a lot in the crowd, at the very least."

"That was my sister, Marina." Goosebumps arise on my arms, but fade away as quickly as they came. "She's my parents' crown jewel in terms of daughters."

"You two are twins?"

"Exactly, and she's the better one," I reply. "She's buffer, more trained than I, meaner, probably prettier, even though we're identical, and generally more popular. I don't think without the help of my friend, though, that I'd even have gotten on the stage."

"You still haven't answered my question." Mysti peers at me curiously. "Why did you volunteer?"

I sigh in mild frustration. "I wanted… to show… that I was just as good as Marina. If not, better. I am sick of being put out of the spotlight, overshadowed by my own twin sister. I sort of want to show my entire district who I am, since only two or three people actually acknowledged my presence…"

"Well, I'm acknowledging you now." Mysti smiles and rubs my arm encouragingly.

"But that's not all," I say quickly.

"What's more to it, then?"

"I'm not the orthodox Career," I begin, rushing through the words. "I-I train in untraditional ways, and I believe in spiritual things, unlike most. I meditate, and I do yoga, and I'm a total health nut, and from all I've seen, no other Career is like that. I want to bring to light my methods."

"That's a good reason, but…" the blond-haired woman seems to be at a loss for words. "You seem too sweet to be killing people in a few days, Adriana."

I smile bitterly through the pain in my chest. "I'll do what I have to do," I say. "Despite what everyone else may say, being a contrary Career is not a curse."

Mysti winks and pats my head. "Good for you," she chirps. "Even though I think you're taking this… a bit to the extreme, I'm supporting you whole-heartedly."

"Thank you, Mysti." I consider her words for a moment before dubbing them good, and grinning. "I really could use a friend on my side. I'm not sure who to ally with…"

"I'm not one for advice on that, usually," she coos in a remorseful tone. "I tend to let my tributes make their own choices about that. I'm sorry."

I fake a smile and force a laugh. "That's okay," I say. "Not everybody is good at everything. And sometimes, you have to depend on yourself, not others."

_It's true_, I muse as Mysti offers a nod and gazes out the window at the sprawling pastel lights. _You have to rely on your own instincts, your own actions and thoughts to get you through the time. At the end of the day, you can't dare lean back on another person for help. I've learned that. It only gets you a knife sliding into your back._

That's something I'm not here to experience. I came to play. I came to win for myself, and myself only. If I win, I doubt I'll even visit my family much – what's left for me, with them?

"I think I'm going-"

"Oh, look, Adriana!" Mysti's voice is elevated slightly, with an air of awe drifting around by it. "Look at it, the Capitol!"

I fly to the window, the breath being sucked out of me as if through a vacuum. I stare in awe at the shimmering towers with square lights – windows, tall glassy things that I can barely see with my naked eye. Structures of metals and different sheens are illuminated by differently-colored lights, beaming up at them. A bustling noise can already be heard from the outside of the train as we pull onto a bridge.

"The people, Adriana, look at them!"

Blinking in utter surprise as we zip past a splash of incredible colors, I back up slightly. "Were those people? From what I could see, they were only tall, flamboyant things."

"Some are out for a nightly – well, morning now – stroll!" Mysti replies, still glued to the window. "There's a sidewalk path by the train tracks – with an invisible electric barrier to keep the people off the tracks, of course."

"Wow," I breathe, my hands pressed tightly against the cold window pane. "Would Capitol people jump?"

Mysti only shrugs, offering me an unanswered question and a thought plaguing my mind.

If I was a Capitolite, I would jump. No question. I can't imagine sending all those kids to their deaths, when they didn't even ask for it. The volunteers, like me? They're another story. They know the risk and they seized the chance. They lost theirself in the moment. They begged for it.

The rest of the kids?

They wanted nothing to do with this.

And that's sick, how they force them.

* * *

**Zane Ackerman, District Nine, Division Two**

* * *

"Look at this gross stuff," I comment, forcing a laugh as I pick up a ball of the pink goop. "What's this supposed to do, huh?"

The woman on my prep team glares at me and shakes her head. "It's a shampoo," she hisses at me. "Now get your filthy hand out of there."

Reproachfully, I drop the goo ball and withdraw my hand in shame.

The Capitol's been alright so far. We got off the train early this morning, where I was still cozily dozing off in my frog pajamas – still stained with memories from the Reaping – and rudely awoken to Olivander, who was, of all things, screeching into a trumpet and making all of us startle awake.

In comparison, the Capitol's a heaven.

Well, actually, if I were to be frank, the Capitol is a heaven. I got whatever I wanted for breakfast, even when I tried to be silly and order a goose-egg's omelet. They gave me a goose-egg's omelet! And they even dyed it purple, like I had asked! And the worst part was that I had to swallow every slimy bite of it, while the others feasted on pancakes and powdered sugar and thick steaks and steaming platters of hot grains and fresh fruit.

So far, my façade of being funny and appealing's only backfired. I scared off Cheyenne, who kinda stared at me with her huge eyes. Rhett was drawn to me, but _I_ was scared off by _him_. Spiridon and Deverra scoffed at me and flounced away, while Imogen ignored me completely.

I must have better luck with One, Two, and Four.

"Stand up and turn around," orders the tan-clad man with the slick mustache, gesturing to me as I obey. He starts lathering something into my scalp, but it's gritty and doesn't muster up a lot of foam.

"When's the chariot parade start?" I ask politely.

The woman retrieves a large black bag from the hook by the door and offers a smile that looks more like a grimace. "About an hour. You'll have a while to mingle with your peers after we're through with you."

"Oh, um, fun," I reply, hoping I sound sincere. "What's in the bag?"

"Your costume."

"W-What's my costume?"

The lady slides a hanger out of the bag, a flash of shimmering golden fabric, light bouncing off of it attractively. "You'll be a wheat field," she says. "We finally have enough tributes to pull it off. When the chariots roll out, you'll all start swaying like wheat stalks."

I cringe slightly. "Uh, but in previous years, haven't we had fun things like farmers and workhands?"

"Yes, but this is the year that we finally have the amount of kids to do this," says the third and final member of my team, the man with the teal hair and the glossy white outfit. "Be proud, Zane."

I smile slightly, nodding my head. I guess we could pull it off. They wouldn't try and make us look stupid, after all. They want people to sponsor us.

The prep team finishes with me rapidly, and I pull on the golden jumpsuit and stare lifelessly at my reflection in the mirror. It looks fine, it's stretchy and it's not too tight or anything, but I feel like a dunce. The headdress of wheat stalks that rustle loudly doesn't exactly boost my self-esteem, either. At least there's golden paint splattered on my cheeks to hide my flaming cheeks.

"A wheat stalk," I say under my breath, inwardly glaring. "What imbeciles made up this idea?"

The man with teal hair looks insulted. I must have spoken louder than I'd meant to. "That imbecile was _me_," he chokes out tearfully, clutching at his heart.

I'm all but shoved out of my dressing room not long after that, and soon I'm roaming the halls after the guy in the dressing room across the hall – the pale-faced sixteen-year old from Four – all while tugging at the headdress.

I meet Deverra first, who looks not idiotic but regal in her outfit. The pants hang just right on her willowy frame, and her long blond hair flowing underneath the headdress looks natural. The paint's smeared perfectly to contour her face, something I usually wouldn't notice, but she looks really good. And I mean, _really_ good.

"Smoking," I say, grinning as I walk up to her.

She wrinkles her nose. "Ew. You're like, ten."

Mildly insulted but craving her approval, I stride closer. She backs away. "Sorry for, uh, my language," I start again, my voice cracking. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me."

"Me, either."

"No, no, I didn't mean like that." I laugh dryly, to which Deverra stares at me with a wrinkled nose and a mean stink eye. "I meant, um…"

"What he meant-" cheers a boy from behind me, loping up and looping his arm around my neck – "was that you look great, really, but you're probably not going to get many other compliments if you keep that scowl on your face."

Deverra stares at the boy – obviously a representative of Two, with his outfit, a crooked crown and blood-smattered robes – and nods slightly. "I wasn't hoping for any," she replies, for once free of a snarky response.

The boy grins at her, nodding right back, and winks. "You do look great, though," he says. "Hot."

Deverra exhales loudly and the boy, still with an iron grip on my neck, starts guiding me away from her. Once we're a safe distance away and my brains are about to burst thanks to the lack of circulation, the boy thrusts his hand out for mine. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," I reply, slightly dazed. I offer my hand out, too, and we shake.

"The name's Akio, but you probably knew that from the Reapings." He shrugs. "I don't know if this is early, but perhaps you were looking for an ally?"

My heart's in my chest. A… friend? Who offered themselves to me? Is this really happening?

"Yes," I croak out, bedazzled by his charisma. "Most definitely…"

* * *

**Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

So, we're fish.

I scope out the rest of my district partners while tugging at my own dress, dripping in little jewels and scales. A couple of tributes have tried to approach me, complimented the fish fins that wrap so elegantly around my head, but they've either been too young – like Loren from Two – or too strange – like Zane from Nine – or too… off-limits.

Like Saturninus Lynch, who popped up to me and started talking in his booming voice. He's not my type. A good meat shield, since half the time he was staring at my chest and seemed rather dazed, but in the end, I could see myself getting attached to him. He was like a chocolate candy, hardened on the outside with gushy and soft innards.

He's the kind of person that I love to observe, but simply cannot risk growing close to.

Somewhere in the speakers above us, a monotone voice announces for all the mingling tributes to get onto their designated chariots. There's one for every two tributes, the younger tributes of each district going first, then the middle division, then the oldest. That means I'll be on the eighth chariot, with Leander.

The said boy looks tense and nervous as he mounts the steps up to the platform and offers me an apprehensive smile. He looks younger than his years, like he's thirteen or fourteen instead of sixteen. I almost feel pitied for him.

The first chariot rolls out, bearing the two little kids from One. Clad in outfits soaked in sparkling gems and hair so tightly bound with glitter, they look almost inhuman.

"Their outfits are ridiculous," Leander says softly.

"You could say the exact same things about us." I flick the fish fin that's clinging to my temple. "Look, I'm wearing a fish corpse."

Leander's skittish smile widens a little, and I silently berate myself for being so open to him. I'm not supposed to grow attached. I'm _not_…

The chariots exit to the deafening sound of the Capitol's roars of applause. Our chariot creeps closer and closer to the doors where we'll enter the runway, and yet, I'm not the least bit worried or apprehensive. I know how to bend it so they can love me. I mean, I'm not _ugly_.

Our cart lurches forward, the shimmering brown horses already snorting as they trot forward, and Leander's quick to clutch my hand. I stare at his sweaty palm, slipping up and down my wrist as he grips the edge of the chariot with his other hand.

"E-Eira?" His voice cracks pathetically. "This is overwhelming…"

I wrestle my hand free and toss my head, blond locks swiftly flowing over my shoulders. "Suck it up," I reply, wiping my hand on the side of my short dress.

Honestly, it'll all be over in ten minutes. He needs to take a sip of a cup of calm.

The doors are open as the horses gaily canter out into the bright lights of the runway. Drummers that stand beneath the tall bleachers of people pound their drums with intensity and precision. I close my eyes for a brief moment while Leander gasps loudly, grasping the bar in front of us. When my eyes flutter open and I gracefully cling to the bar, following Leander's example, I can see the crowd more clearly.

Half of the people hold signs, flickering with decorative light and glittery stuff. Some have words I can't make out, while some are a simple name, bolded with marker.

_Lolita. Spiridon. Adriana. Salton. Sabryn. Jaiden. Imani._

It seems like everyone's a favorite. I can even make out my name on one or two of the signs, which I have to admit, I wasn't expecting, due to the disgust at the Reaping that the other kids gave me. Maybe they're shallow and basing their judgment on my looks.

Our chariot rolls down the runway, and I happily wave to everybody, grinning and winking at a few points. Next to me, Leander's still tense, but he's come out of his shell a little, his ears perking up and a slow smile spreading across his mug.

_Good for him._

I turn away from him as our chariot pulls up to the one containing Saturninus and Imani, who are clad in golden robes and crowns smattered with something that resembles blood, both holding a bedazzled scepter. The chariot that pulls up to our left is the younger kids from Nine, Cheyenne looking petrified while Rhett's chuckling, mischievous eyes glancing everywhere. They look ridiculous in golden jumpsuits and huge headdresses of odd tanned spokes.

The drumming that was previously thumping has ceased, while everyone's attention turns to the small, elevated podium that hovers in the center of the semicircle of chariots. Any minute now, the president will come out, say a couple words wishing each tribute luck, and quietly leave.

But there's nothing.

Confused and rather bored, I drum my fingers against the bar of the chariot while Leander, now relaxed and less uptight, gently shushes me with a hiss of air between his teeth.

But all of a sudden, something happens. There's movement on the podium.

But it's not the president.

It's a hologram.

Confused, I lean in closer to attempt to sneak a peek on the other side of the podium and see if this is some big joke, as if the real president will burst out in a shower of confetti and streamers, grinning and waving. But no, the hologram's mouth opens and a robotic, croaky voice flows out, with numerous hitches.

"Hello, tributes," she says. "I am sorry I am not there with you in body, but with mind."

"What's wrong with her?" I whisper out as she continues on.

"Good luck this year, to each of you. You will have betrayals. Friendships. Even some relationships. But in the end, every single one of you will die – except for one lucky person, male or female."

_Well, that's chipper._

The president's flickering image offers a weary smile down on us. "Have a wonderful year, tributes. And, as it is traditional, may the odds be ever in your favor."

The hologram trembles twice and disappears.

* * *

**Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three**

* * *

Hopping off the chariot and dusting my arms from the itchy silver glitter, I ignore Imani as she calls after me. I usually like most people, but she's been nothing but blunt and cold to me. I _don't_ dig that.

But, hey, Teal did say that the time after chariots was some of the best time to talk up some potential allies.

I've already chatted with my district partners, kind of figured out what makes each of them tick. Ferric's a pretty awesome guy, he's loquacious and happy most of the time, though he and Sabryn have avoided each other a lot. Sabryn herself is like a littler version of Imani, kind of snarky and callous.

Lolita's adorable. She reminds me of a doll. Rather meek and cautious of my feelings, I almost asked her to be allies right then and there, despite how frail she was. But something held me back. I'm not quite sure what. Peridot, too, seems crude and uncaring of what others think. I like that, but again, like with Lolita, something holds me back.

I'm so caught up in trying to peel the glitter off of my arms without stripping off any of the arm hair that I have left that I don't notice a pair of pale grey eyes staring right at me.

Well, I do notice, actually, after a minute or so.

Amalie Traselle slinks up to me, her hair sleek and flowy and her dress clinging to her limber form. She offers me a serene smile and I grin back.

"Hello, there," I say immediately.

She giggles, bringing a hand up to her puffy lips. She's rather cute, actually, with clear skin and long lashes. "Hi," she replies in a tinkling voice. "My name is Amalie."

"I'm Merchandise Leighton, but you could call be Merch! If you want, I mean," I add hastily.

"Merch is a great nickname," she says evenly.

"Thanks," I chuckle, staring at the ground.

All of a sudden there's silence, and it doesn't seem like either of us is willing to break it, no matter how much I want to get to know her better. I mean, she approached me. It's like she's a guest in my home, but not really.

"Do you-"

"Hey, Merch-"

We stop abruptly and dissolve into laughter. Her cheeks flush red and her shoulders shake. "You go first," I say between giggles. "Ladies first, right?"

"Um, well…" Still grinning softly, she blinks a few times and brings her fingers up to her long hair, where she intertwines them between silky strands. "I don't wanna be rude or anything, but would you..."

"Yes, go on," I encourage her, my heart fluttering .

"Would you want to train with me tomorrow?"

My heartbeat falters but continues on. Training with her? I was expecting her to ask me to be allies, but hey, if she's cautious, that's good. I can be cautious, too. "I'd _love_ to," I reply, taking her hand and squeezing it. Her cheeks flare up another shade of red and she giggles once more.

"So it's a date, then?" Amalie suddenly freezes after she says that, her breath hitched.

I want her to feel comfortable. I drop her hand and place it on my hip, my palm suddenly sweaty. "It's a date," I say gently.

Amalie smiles, glancing to the elevator. "Well, I'd best be off," she says smoothly, scratching an itch on her elbow. "I want to be rested for tomorrow, you know! I want good dreams and all that."

"Most definitely!" I reply, giving her a slight hug and nodding. "Have a good night, Amalie!"

She leaves, blushing.

And then I'm on my own again, surrounded by mingling tributes, most of them sticking closely to a district partner or two, and some isolated ones. I find Lolita, still in her chariot, staring out at the parties with a blank expression.

I take a seat next to her. "Hi," I offer.

She averts her gaze to meet my eyes. Her irises are startlingly dark. "Hey, Merchandise," she says in a fluid tone. "Crazy out there, isn't it?"

I smile. "Total pandemonium," I emphasize, crossing my legs. "Makes you wonder what it will be like in the actual Games, huh?"

Lolita gazes out at everybody once more. "I'd think that everybody would be ruthless," she says simply. "No mercy, just slaughter. Everyone wants this so bad."

"It's a little sickening," I murmur, "but hey, I guess I'm just as bad as the rest, right? I volunteered for this."

"As did I." Lolita sighs. "Sometimes I wonder why I did."

I don't press her – I know that Lolita's state of mind is a little sporadic, and I don't want to rush her. I'm crude and bold at most times, but I have a soft spot for girls like her and Amalie. Some vibe that they give off makes me halt myself. "Same here."

Lolita peers at me curiously. "Why did you, then?"

Well, apparently she has no qualms about being brazen.

I shrug. "My family, maybe. We're all the perfect picture of a Capitol-supporting group of people. My sister was actually supposed to volunteer, but she got pregnant and, well, she's pretty ticked about it."

"How old is she?"

"She was eighteen and the best in her region of expertise." I sigh. "Sometimes I wish she was in here, before I remember if you want anything done right, you'd better do it yourself."

"I know that from experience," mutters Lolita darkly.

We sit for a while, just observing the interactions of the others, before I turn to her. "Hey, Lolita?"

"What do you want?"

"Do you want to train with me tomorrow?"

Her eyelashes flutter. She gazes at me with admiration. "Sure, Merchandise. I'd _love_ to."

* * *

**Cheyenne Macrae, District Nine, Division One**

* * *

Stepping gently off of the chariot, my golden slippers pattering onto the floor, I watch as Rhett leaps off with a great grin on his face and starts sprinting for the elevators. I'm suddenly faced with a choice – follow him to the room or stay down here, where I could try and search for a friend?

I'd rather _not_ make this decision.

In the end, I take too long deciding and Rhett's already smiling at me as the elevator doors close. My fingers wrap tightly around my sides as I hug myself, hoping that somebody comes along and strikes a conversation with me while I'm waiting. But then, again, who would want to make friends with the Reaped girl?

"Hi, there."

A voice from my side startles me, but I push the nervous feeling down. I carefully peer around the massive headdress I'm decked out in, only to see the friendly face of the young girl from District Two. Loren Faust.

"Hey," I croak out, a fierce blush crawling up my cheeks.

"I'm Loren, and you're Cheyenne, yeah?" She grins.

"That's me."

Loren chuckles. "Cool. Listen, I know this is a little quick, but before we head up, do you wanna talk for a little bit?" She gestures to her district partner, Conner, who's inquisitively watching a boy from District Nine and a boy from District Two. "My district partners are kind of boring, in my opinion. Nobody wants to chat."

"Sure," I say, quickly taking a seat on the step of my chariot. She quickly follows suit, her eyes twinkling. "What do we… what do we talk about?"

Loren shrugs. "Stuff." She leans in closer, and my breath hitches. "What's it like in District Nine? I've always wanted to know."

I lace my fingers together, boring a hole in the ground with my fierce stare. "Um… we plant grains. Wheat, mostly, but soybeans and such as well."

"Do you make bread?"

"There's bakeries," I say.

"Oh." Loren chuckles. "In that case, we're basically the same as you. We have bakeries, and some people even have gardens, but they're usually the richer families."

"Cool," I reply, my throat dry as a desert. My eyes glance from side to side, hoping that Loren will catch on that I really, really want to ally with her.

But she merely smiles at me, fluttering her long lashes, and waits for me to say something else.

"Um…" I stammer for a moment, rubbing my hands on the silky material of my jumpsuit. "How is life back in District Two?"

"Ah, it's fabulous," remarks Loren, stretching out casually. As she jabbers on about her life at home, my curiosity is perked, and I watch her in fascination as she goes on and on. I want to be like her, social and popular and uncaring of what others think. That's the vibration I'm getting from her, anyways.

"So, yeah, that's how I ended up here!"

I blink, hoping that I didn't space out too much and miss all of her little speech. "Oh, that's… nice," I finish up lamely.

Loren gives me a sarcastic little hoot.

"I-I'm being honest," I say, wringing my hands.

She shakes her head, making the precarious crown on her head shake as if it's about to topple off. "Nah, you're good, I just don't think that it's a really good reason… I mean, what, half the other kids here must have volunteered because of it."

"_Yeah_," I agree in the false hope that she'll think I was listening along.

"So don't think I'm basic or anything, okay?"

"Of course not." I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile, but really, it's just a mask laced with desperation and hope. With any sort of luck, Loren overlooks this.

And she does. She mistakes it for a lesser, more shallow meaning, and throws her arm around me. "You're cool," she giggles. "Wanna be allies?"

My heart pounds. My underarms break out with sweat. _Of course I do!_ I want to scream, but instead, I nod softly and smile a little. "Yes," I answer. "I'd like that. A lot."

"Well, great, then," Loren beams, getting up from her sitting position. "Well, I don't want it to get too late. We have a big day tomorrow, don't we?"

_We'll have a big day for the rest of our time here,_ I think to myself. But, of course, I don't say that. I keep it bottled up and nod, giving her an encouraging little thumbs-up and standing stiffly as she embraces me.

I pop into an elevator with her, and the ride up to her floor is silent. She beams at me as she leaves, to which I offer her a tentative smile back.

When I come up to my own floor, Olivander and Roland greet me with huge smiles. Behind them, Rhett is curled up on the couch with a huge mug of something with whipped cream on it, and Deverra's on a loveseat, staring at some odds board on the television screen.

"How are you doing, Cheyenne?" Olivander says evenly, for once not stammering or quivering.

"Good," I squeak out, managing a smile before I scoot down the hall, to my assigned room. I find a pair of silky rose-colored pajamas already placed out on the cushy bed spread for me, dotted with big white polka dots. Wincing as the headdress catches on my hair, I pull the chariot outfit off and replace it with these cozy nightclothes.

I slide into bed immediately, without even brushing my teeth. I stare at the blackened ceiling with my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

I didn't want to be here. I never wanted to be here.

I just wanted to be at home. I could have been left there. I'm sure if the Capitol knew what I was like – a perfect law-following citizen – they would have let me stay there.

Passive, quiet, meek. I abide by the rules and never step a toe into a dangerous zone.

But now, do I really have a choice?

I turn over, feeling the soft pillowcase against my cheek. Against my will, a salty teardrop slips out of my eye and runs down the contours of my face, even after I screw my eyelids shut.

_No._

* * *

**Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Division Three**

* * *

"I'm _hungry_."

Scowling at Kronos, who's quick to snicker and shrug, I move towards the giant silver fridge, thrusting open the doors and grabbing a select few items – a wheel of creamy white cheese, a couple of tins of _something_ that looks fantastic, a dish of brown pudding, and a jug of whole white milk. Content with my food, I grab a spoon and a fork and dig in.

"That sure looks yummy," comments Briana from where she's perched, nibbling on a banana.

"At least I'm not eating foods like one extra bite will poison me," I snark, mowing down on the pudding. "Worrying is boring."

"If people said to eat lots of food, I wouldn't want much, anyways," she says, tossing her hair. "I'm not one to stuff my face. I don't want to bulk up."

I roll my eyes. "Obviously, you must weigh thirty pounds."

"And you must weigh thirty tons." Briana smiles, taking another bite. "We're even."

I ignore her, instead opting to glance at Kronos while I dig into the cheese wheel. "Oh, hey, bud, so any big ideas for me tomorrow?"

"Me?"

"Yeah." I smirk. "You're my mentor, after all."

"Uh, yeah." Kronos scratches the back of his head and pinches a morsel of cheese from the wheel. "But first, let me run your ear about allies. Did you see any potential ones?"

"_Me_," Briana spits out from across the kitchen.

I ignore her once more. "Eira from Four seems pretty decent," I say. "Same with Deverra and Spirodon from Nine. They all seem pretty strong."

"Aha," Kronos cracks a smile. "But have you considered any of your district partners?" Briana practically basks in the glow of sudden pride.

I snicker. "Yeah…" I watch her beam. "…_Lynden_." Her face falls and she gobbles down the rest of her banana in remorse.

"Ah, she's very reliable," Kronos says. "Very responsible. A good choice, I might add."

"Are you my mentor or are you here to endorse Lynden?"

"Oh, please," he says, rolling his eyes and grabbing another small chunk of cheese. "Don't follow in my footsteps, I run into walls."

"But you won your Games."

"Haven't you ever heard of a thing called luck?" Kronos shakes his head, his pale eyes gazing off to somewhere that I most likely couldn't see. He seems too wise and deep for me, like some sort of scholar. _Meanwhile, I'm about as deep as a kiddie pool._ "Luck, drive, and a couple of sponsors."

"Maybe that's all I need, too." I wink.

Kronos wags a finger at me. "Then you gotta show the crowd what you're made of. Currently, they think you're just muscle and a pretty face. You need to show them what's behind that pretty face."

I wrinkle my nose, a sick feeling crawling over me. "Um, yeah, I'd rather not split open my head to the entire world. But I get what you're saying."

He smiles. "You're funny, Lynch. Capitolites like funny. They like a tribute who's relatable, who's real. And that's you."

"I can be real, too," calls Briana from the other side of the room.

Once again, she gets ignored. Kronos stares at me with hardened eyes. "Be yourself. I know that sounds sappy and tacky and something that a grandmother would say, but so be it. Don't put up a façade. That's tiring and overdone."

"…I'm not planning on it." I scrape the bottom of the pudding bowl with my spoon and stare down sadly to the empty void. "On any rate, I'm not much of an actor. I doubt I could hold myself for five minutes."

"I agree," my mentor chuckles. "See, Lynch, that's why people will like you. You're relatable. You're handsome. You're strong. What more could they need?"

I grin, shrugging and grabbing the cheese wheel with both hands, ripping off a fleshy hunk and raising it to my lips. "You're right, Kronos. Thanks a bunch."

"Anything." He smiles at me sadly. "It would be great if you could win, thanks. Maybe then I could be treated like I'm one of the others."

"If I could win, that would sure be great, too," Briana sing-songs from her chair.

For once, I reply to her, but with a cold glare and a bark. "Have fun ripping out somebody's spleen, _friend_!"

She leaves abruptly, to which I soon follow suit, stashing the rest of the cheese wheel under my shirt.

I prepare for bed, stripping down to a thin nightshirt and a pair of slim, baggy shorts. Climbing onto the window seat that overlooks a city street, I chew on the rest of my cheese wheel, silently admiring the pretty lights.

In the Capitol, everything is organized. Nothing is sporadic or out of place. There's no room for randomness. From the arrangement of the bluebell bouquet on my nightstand to the amount of buttons on the shirt I'm wearing, everything must be prim and proper and perfect.

I'm not perfect. I'm not an avid sinner, but I'm certainly no prophet, either. I'm not intelligent – at least, I don't think so. I'm not cut for anything but training. Maybe that's why I threw myself into it so much. It was finally something that I was good at.

…Nah, I'm just playing. It was totally because I _hated_ responsibilities. I hated the feeling that I had something to do with my life. I _like_ flying by the seat of my pants. It's a rush.

And that's why I tossed myself in here by choice. To escape the obligations I'd need to fulfill back in District Two.

Or maybe it was to meet a hot girl or two – hey, I'm _not_ picky.

* * *

**A/N: Without Me by Eminem.**

**And so we have the first eight tributes! Sabryn, Conner, Adriana, Zane, Eira, Merchandise, Cheyenne, and Lynch.**

**Sorry for the little delay, but aaaay, two weeks isn't too bad, is it? :P Could be a month. Could be a year. Could be forever. After all, some infinities are larger than other infinities.**

**But, yeah, I'm digressing. A review would be much appreciated and, well, it helps me figure out stuff. You know? Maybe your tribute was mentioned here, maybe they weren't, maybe they got a POV, maybe they were highlighted. It all evens out in the end! :)**

**Oh, and happy Valentines Day! Hope you all had a _LOVELY_ day! ;)**

**Anyways. Questions!**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart?**

**Who are you looking forward to seeing?**

**Favorite part in this entire chapter?**


	6. Ready Aim Fire

.

_**We never quite thought we could lose it all.**_

* * *

**Imani Veneur, District One, Division Three**

* * *

Sliding out of the cover of silky sheets, I bend over, quickly putting my long dark hair into a respectable ponytail. Glancing at myself once in a side mirror and nodding to my reflection curtly, I start to stride out to the kitchen.

Nobody's here except for two silent Avoxes – I'm early, and that's the way I like it. Opening the silver fridge's massive doors, I lean in and pluck out an orange and a slice of bread, which I promptly slip into a toaster slot.

Once I'm munching on crunchy toast slathered with butter and the sweet wedges of oranges, somebody walks in, and I internally groan.

Sabryn, the little chick who strides around like she owns the place.

Well, I do too – but isn't there an expression to respect your elders?

"Morning, Imani," Sabryn says politely, pouring herself a glass of clear red juice. I notice her blond hair, messily knotted up into a bun, and her skin is pale from sleep.

"Hello. Nice _hair_," I reply back, testing the waters. Will she be bitter today?

But no, she merely ignores me, swishing the drink around in the cup before taking a sip. Slick move.

I retreat back to my room after I've crunched down the last bit of toast, observing that while I was gone, somebody came into my room and made my bed, fluffing my pillows and all, plus set out an outfit at the foot of the bed. It's nothing special, looks like a jumpsuit of sorts, but it's obviously not baggy. Its main color is black, with a stripe of white down the side.

Once I've cloaked myself in the jumpsuit and brushed my teeth and hair, I start striding into the kitchen when oh, out of nowhere, comes Domika, her pearly whites bared in the fakest smile I've ever seen.

"Imani, _honey_!"

"Domika, _babe_."

She chortles at my sarcasm, trying to embrace me before she takes on a serious air. "Alright, first day of training. I see that you're prepared."

"As much as I'll ever be," I say dryly.

Domika giggles and swats at my shoulder. "I know we talked about this yesterday, but I'll ask it again. Have you even thought about getting any allies?"

"Oh, yes, I've thought about it." I nod, my eyes grazing over her hopeful face for a second, before following it up with, "I'm going to be the leader of whatever alliance I choose."

Her face falls. "Oh, Imani."

"What?" I demand, slightly put off. She should be supporting me, not treating me like I'm five. I mean, I know I'm rude, and I know I'm blunt, but that's just part of my charm. And if she can't accept it, well, then that's _her_ problem.

"You just…" Domika huffs, leaning against the wall and shaking her head. "You don't march up to people and demand to be their leader."

"What, you think I'm that idiotic?" I retort. "Really, Domika, you don't know me at all."

"I know you well enough to know that you'll be defiant, and go whatever I say."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "Sure, call me defiant. I'll be your rebellious teen student, and when I win, you can say that you've changed me for the better, and you'll get all the praise and attention."

Domika gawps at me. "What…"

"I know that that's what will happen," I say coolly. "Don't think I haven't seen people of your sort before. Call me a jerk, but at least I know what's good for me."

With that rant off my chest, I push past her to the kitchen and shove another bread slice into the toaster. My district partners mill around, a couple opting to stare at me, others simply gazing into their breakfasts. I notice Peridot and Sabryn sitting close, their elbows bumping as they cut their food. Conner's a loner, while Merchandise and Lolita quietly talk to each other.

My toast pops up, and just as I snatch it up and start to slather some jam on it, in walks Sheen. The big cheese.

"Wakey, wakey," she belches loudly, giggling in its aftermath. She grabs a mug and shoves it at a small Avox. "Coffee me, please. Three creams."

As the servant scampers off to do her bidding, she treads from one tribute to the next, hugging or clapping us on the back. She whops me particularly hard, but I ignore the drunk old woman and hold my tongue, instead focusing on spreading the strawberry jam perfectly on the toast, creating a thin sheen that barely glosses over the surface.

"Big day ahead of y'all," she announces once she's done making her rounds. "All I have to say is to get on your suits so you aren't buck naked, and try not to mess up, really."

"We surely won't," Peridot assures her.

Sheen grins, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. "Good, good. I want this district to have pride, not shame."

"And you're definitely flaunting that by not going to the dentist," Sabryn says sourly. Mentally, I applaud the girl, even if we were at each others' throats a while ago.

Sheen wags a finger at her trainee but keeps beaming as the Avox returns with a steaming mug of milky coffee. She slurps it loudly and once she's done, slams it down on the counter, hard enough to create a loud noise, but soft enough so it doesn't splinter. "I'm being honest. It makes or breaks you."

"You're preaching to the choir." I smile at the woman. "We know all this, Sheen. We aren't here for nothing."

"We are the cream of the crop," Sabryn backs me up.

The lady chuckles, ripping off a hunk of donut and splashing it in her coffee. "Be careful not to get cocky," she says. "That's gonna be your one weakness. You might be the best with a spear, but in the arena, it's all up to fate, and you can't control that."

As she strides out, I can only hear her words, resounding in my mind.

They're having a bigger impact than I would have thought she could make.

* * *

**Rhett Valdez, District Nine, Division One**

* * *

The elevator is so _fun_.

I bounce lightly on my heels, grinning at Imogen as she stares placidly at me, eyelids at half mast and eyebrows raised slightly, and then at Deverra, who's glaring at me with her arms crossed. "Lighten up," I ruff at her, snickering when she blinks in confusion.

"You won't get any allies if you act that way," Deverra says.

"Hush, you," I reply, wrinkling my nose. "People have to suck it up and deal with my charm, ya dig?"

She rolls her eyes, gives me a flip of her thick blond hair. "Why not," she mutters to herself before saying a bit louder, "So you're saying that somebody wants to ally with a little kid who can't stop bouncing and smiling?"

"Plus, I got a great bod," I reply, gesturing to my wiry frame.

"Oh, good _God_," Deverra moans into her hands.

I snigger at her response. "Calm down, I was only joking."

The elevator doors open and she rolls her eyes at me, curling her lip before promptly flouncing out, no doubt another snarky reply on the tip of her tongue. But hey, she's gone and that's all that really matters.

I paint on a smile as I follow, Imogen silently following my footsteps.

The tributes whom are already down here - including the other three of my district partners – are gathered around a pedestal, on which bears a short, dark-skinned woman who, though her small stature is prominent, she carries herself with an air of regality, and that's awesome. I like little people who have big personalities. Just like me.

She's obviously at the end of a speech, so I muscle my way in front of Spiridon's thigh and watch her.

"This place will make you or break you – it is your final place to recognize where you stand in these Games."

Okay. Cool. Some words of advice that I'm only going to forget in two minutes. Nice. Sweet.

She gazes down at us tributes, lips peeling back into a grin. "I know you all are capable. Time to show us in particular, what you can do. Begin!"

Instead of running away like I would have expected, everybody kinda freezes up, moving slowly over to the weaponry stations as if held back. A few tributes, like Merchandise, Amalie, and Lolita, band together immediately, but others, such as Imogen, stay on their own.

I glance around at the bodies with a smile tugging on the corners of my lips, searching for anybody who could potentially be a friend.

I find the boy immediately.

He bounds over to me first, actually, hair flying and a grin stretching across his face. "Hey!" he shrieks in a loud, prepubescent voice. "I'm Ferric, Ferric Gauven! From District One!"

"Hi!" I crow back, eager to have met such a giddy guy. "Rhett Valdez, of District Nine. Nice to meet you, bud!"

Offering a wink, he leans in and starts jabbering away to me. "So, yeah, I was wondering if you'd want to train with me? It would be nice to have a friend, and I dunno, dude, maybe we could be an alliance sometime in the future, and, well. yeah!"

"Of course I'd like to train with you!" I reply, practically bursting from my joy. "Come on, let's go to the knives first!"

If we seem like we were too eager, we don't care. It's running in our blood, and Ferric's awesome so far – and I'm sure his blood is, too.

We arrive at a knife station quickly, being the only two tributes there. A trainer from behind the counter is quick to smile and ask us if we need any help, but Ferric quickly turns her down, and we both grab a knife each.

"Throwing knives are really easy," he comments as he slings one forward to a tanned dummy, landing it just into his torso before it unsticks and falls out. Shrugging and reaching for another, he tries again.

Meanwhile, I stare determinedly at my own dummy, placed ten to twelve feet in front of me, and cock my head slightly, trying to figure out the best angle to throw it. In the Games, this would be no problem – you throw, and hope for the best. But here, it is a wee bit trickier.

You need to aim. It preps you to get a high score, after all.

Biting my lip and squinting, I'm more than aware of Ferric's laughter from next to me. "You're taking this so seriously," he crows.

I frown for a moment, before realizing how silly I must look. I straighten my shoulders and lighten up, if even for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so," I snort. Gripping the knife, I turn to the dummy and hurl it forward, going blade over handle, and it collides with the dummy's chest, before promptly falling to the ground.

"All that preparation for nothing," Ferric mewls mournfully.

I shrug, reaching for another and staring at Ferric as he chortles, examining the high arches of his eyebrows and clefted dip of his lip. _Rad bone structure, _I think to myself, before snapping back to reality and forcing a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it was pretty stupid."

Ferric walks over to me and slings his arm around my neck, fake-choking me. I tense momentarily, but he doesn't notice, rather laughs eve more. "That's why you got me, right? To lighten up."

"Yeah," I reply, clawing at his arm. "The perfect ally."

Ally.

The very word tastes sweet on my lips.

And judging by the overjoyed look on Ferric's face, he's not too opposed, either.

* * *

**Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

As the trainer dismisses us to go to any station we wish, Spiridon immediately departs from me, that same sneer plastered across his face and his eyebrows knit. I watch him leave with a small sense of longing, but briskly berate myself for that. I don't need him. I can find somebody else worthy of my company.

Striding to the nearest station – spears – I promptly run into the dark-haired, slim girl from One, the one nearest to my age. She's turning one of the weapons over in her hands, pursing her lips as she does so.

I clear my throat, stepping up to the plate. I can be the first to talk. Nothing wrong with that. "Hi. I'm Deverra."

She glances up at me, eyes wide and sparkling. Her lips quiver from their pose, and quickly drop into a frown. "District Nine, right?"

"You are," I reply.

Her top lip curls and she focuses her attention back on the spear. "I don't understand why they let your district into these Games."

I roll my eyes. "Are you kidding? We're the best. Our trainers are so skilled, and we're not half bad, either. I bet I could put you to shame."

She ignores the last bit and looks up again. "You have trainers?"

My composition falters slightly. "Well, we're trained by our victors," I say. "Roland and Olivander."

"Oh, them two?" The girl snickers. "_Please_, they're so old that one wrong swing could make their dentures fall out. In District One, we have actual trainers, and academies, too. We're where it's at."

"Where it's at?" I repeat, placing a hand on my hip. _Things are getting heated, huh?_ "Please, listen to yourself. You sound so cocky right now."

"Apparently District Nine breeds more than just weaklings," she spits out. "They breed snarky, ugly little prisses… just like _you_!" She jams the blunt end of the spear into the ground to accentuate her point, eyes blazing with energy.

Inhaling sharply to try and maintain some of the dignity that I've lost, I take on a calmer disposition. "Hey, look. Whatever your name is. I know-"

"Imani," she says curtly.

"Yeah, whatever. Imani." I try not to roll my eyes. "We might have come from different ends of the spectrum, but… hey, we're obviously the two alpha girls in this pool of tributes." I gesture across the room, silently glad that at the moment, two of the littler girls are strolling past. "Can you imagine how dangerous we'd be as a team, even if we aren't all buddy-buddy?"

Imani's eyes narrow. "I work fine on my own, thanks."

"And I do, too." I bite my lip. "But you know, two powerhouses combined makes one deadly mix. With our two abilities, me with my sickle and you with your – um, whatever it is you do…"

"I'm an archer," she says, tossing her sleek hair. She pauses briefly, eyes flickering around the room. "And Deverra? I do get what you're saying. The two of us… we could be _lethal_ together."

I smile triumphantly, almost ready to throw my arm around her before I realize how much I really dislike the girl, allies or not. "Awesome. So it's an alliance?"

Imani pauses again, gently running a hand through her hair. "I thought I made that clear."

I laugh lightly, nodding politely. "While we're joined together like some big fat happy family, do you think we should add anybody else?"

"Another powerhouse to add to the mix? Oooh, looks like the others are in for some _trouble_." Imani sneers at the unaware tributes, her sarcasm breaking through.

"That's exactly what I mean."

"That one muscled kid from Two looked pretty good, to be honest…" she frowns slightly, nodding her head to a station across the building. "But look. He has an alliance already."

Standing next to Saturninus Lynch, laughing at something he said as they compare axes, are the pale boy from Four, and the oldest female from Two. Leander and Lynden, are they?

"Nothing that I can't fix," I boast, striding over to the station and noting with satisfaction that Imani stumbles after me, struggling to keep up. "I wormed my way into an alliance with you, didn't I?"

"There's a difference. I _let_ you."

"Say what you will," I snort, tossing my hair and walking right up to the bulky boy, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hi!"

He turns around in surprise, blinking rapidly. I come just up to his shoulders, so I have to glance up a bit to make eye contact. "Oh, hey," he says in a deep, booming tone.

"I'm Deverra, and this is Imani," I say, gesturing to my dark-haired companion, who waves. "We'd like an alliance with you and your little group."

His face peels into a beam, and he swivels to meet Leander and Lynden. "Did you hear that, you two? We've already got more friend requests!"

Lynden walks up to me, not with an air of authority, but almost timidly. She introduces herself and Leander, before tilting her head and asking, "Just curious, why did you choose us, out of everybody?"

I smile, shrugging at her. No need to be rude here – she obviously isn't that much of a threat to my power. "You guys seemed pretty strong," I say. "Don't prove me wrong, please."

Meanwhile, Leander tugs at a lock of my hair, eyes wide and lips parted. "Your hair's so thick," he murmurs fervently.

"I try." Already I'm regretting this – how in hell did this pale, gawky guy earn a friendship with a burly man like Lynch? Come to think of it, Lynden doesn't look very strong, why is she here, too?

I guess if you want one, you have to take them all.

No worries. I can work with that.

Imani strikes up a conversation with Lynch, her eyes alert and sharp, while Lynden and Leander murmur to themselves in the backdrop. I can't help the stupid grin that starts creeping up my face, even if I try to conceal it. This alliance is mine, all mine for the taking. I can't _wait_ to see where I go with it.

It's something of my own. And I love that.

* * *

**Spiridon Floros, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

Slamming the claymore into the dummy's shoulder with a sense of completion, I smirk at the red shards that are quick to pour out. I like feeling like I'm making a difference – and I am. I'm making a difference in this mannequin's future!

I snort at my own joke, getting ready to ambush a second one, before a small voice stops me.

"Hey!"

I stop shortly, swiveling to meet the source of the voice. I find it promptly, coming from the body of the short blond from Four.

"My name's Eira," she says briskly, offering her hand out. I take it, my own hand practically smothering hers. "Eira Valliere. I'm from District Four."

"Spiridon Floros of District Nine." I straighten my spine and offer a charming smile. "Cutting straight to the chase, are you here for an alliance?"

She blinks for a second, before disguising her surprise. "I suppose I am," she says. "And your answer?"

I size up the small girl for a second, taking in all her assets before replying. "Perhaps," I say, trying to hide a smirk. "You should show me what you've got."

Eira shrugs and motions for me to follow, and I do so – all the way to the spear section, where she promptly butters herself up for some intense tossing. I watch in mild fascination as she grabs one and slings it forward, hurtling it directly into the shoulder of a dummy.

"And I can do better than _that_," she announces eagerly, snatching another one up and throwing this one with her gut, lurching all the way forward with her entire body, following up with a circle of her arm as the spear plunges through the tan plastic, a confetti of crimson exploding in its aftermath.

I clap slowly, walking forward as she pants and watches me with wary eyes.

"Impressive," I say.

"Am I in?" asks Eira.

I pout, shrugging. "I'm not sure."

"How can you not be sure?" Eira's peppered up now, cheeks flushing as she straightens herself, chest thrust out and shoulders back. She's unconsciously making herself look better through her anger. _Good_. "Come on, Spiridon. I did what you asked."

Wagging my finger and raising my eyebrows, I respond, "_Now_ you're in."

Eira snorts. "You're strange."

Feeling the need to defend myself and back my tactics up, I tack on, "No, you weren't believing in yourself before that. That, and your posture was absolute crap."

She stares at me quietly for a moment. "Are you joking with me?" She asks in a low voice.

"No?"

"You're such a control freak…" Eira frowns, placing her hands on her hips. "God, Spiridon, when I asked to be allies with you, I sure didn't expect you to try and take over my methods of training…"

"But now we're allies." I throw her a smile. "Think of me as your own personal trainer, but closer to your age."

"What, did the aloof and mighty Spiridon train tributes back in Nine, and now he wants to spread his amazingness to others?" she scoffs. "Honestly, you're such a pain right now."

The smile drops right off my face and it's all I can do to not bark at her. "You know what? You approached me," I breathe at her, coming closer and closer to her upset, if not a bit annoyed, face.

"That was before I knew you were some obsessive control freak," Eira spits, flipping her silky blond hair. "I'm out."

But just as she leaves, another girl arrives, and apparently tugs her back to reality.

"Hi," she says, giggling and looping her arm around Eira's shoulder. "I'm Briana. Mind if I join you two, or do I need to pass some sort of initiation?"

Eira scowls blackly at me. "I'm fine, but you might need to go through hazing with that war general over there."

Briana snickers, offering me a wide-eyed look. "Certainly you won't make _me_ go through something like that, will you?"

I curl my lip slightly at her carefreeness, but quickly replace it with a hopefully charming appearance. "Just prove your worth and you could find yourself a slot in our alliance."

She gasps slightly, bouncing lightly on her feet. "Oh, I can do _that_," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not useless, why do you even think I volunteered? Just watch me."

With confidence rolling off her like water off a duck's feathers, she grabs a spear and, with a wink to me and a toss of her thick brown hair, she surges her arm forward, the weapon leaving it and landing into the tan dummy.

The exact thing that Eira just did.

"Congratulations," I say, nodding my head at the mannequin. "You got it once. Are you a one-trick pony?"

Briana gasps in mock horror, but I can tell that she's sort of offended. "I am most certainly not," she says, glaring. "Why else do you think I volunteered? This is the second time I'm asking, Spiridon, and I don't like to repeat myself."

I shrug, smirking airily. "I'm not asking your reasons, I just want to know if you're any good or not."

Eira taps Briana's shoulder and rolls her eyes, giving her a knowing look.

"Fine," Briana huffs. "I'll repeat myself. For you. Just because I want an alliance with you two."

Although her words are snippy, once again, there's a slight ring of truth to it. If she just wanted to ally with Eira, she would have grabbed her hand and stomped off. But no, she wanted me as an ally, too. She even said it. She seeks my leadership, and she'll make Eira see my light, too. We'll be a great alliance, just the three of us.

Soon enough.

* * *

**Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One**

* * *

"Look how easy this is!"

I stare.

Merchandise lunges forward with the axe, grinning manically as he does so, winking at Amalie as the axe is flung out of his hand. It's the fifth time he's done this, and the fifth time we've all stood here, watching him with the same bored expressions at his flamboyance.

"Nice job, Merch," I say tiredly.

"Excellent, really," Amalie echoes.

"Thank you!" Merchandise straightens his spine, smiles.

"Now can we please get some lunch?" I place one hand on my hip, the other caressing my long braid. I smile once Merchandise glances over to me, a charming little grin that's sure to convince him.

"Sure," he says flippantly. "I'm sure getting hungry."

He stoops slightly to take my hand, and then he links arms with Amalie, who's quick to blush blissfully. And we walk, as a sort of lopsided chain, to the cafeteria.

The buffet looks incredible. Several steaming silver dishes, containing probably scrumptious dishes and mysterious spreads, await and beseech us. I gasp in slight delight, my mouth already watering. I _love_ new experiences, and this isn't one I've seen before.

"I want to try everything," I say quietly.

Merchandise glances down at me, eyes sparkling with joy and lips quirked into a smile. "The world's your oyster, Lolita!" he says happily.

Grinning back at him, and Amalie, whose own eyes are widened with curiosity, I take a tray and shuffle into line, dishing out little portions of meats, vegetables, rice, rolls, and everything but the kitchen sink, basically. It slowly oozes towards each other until most of the foods touch, combining into one giant mural of nourishment.

_Delightful_.

Collecting a napkin, fork, spoon, and knife at the end, I slide onto a bench near a wall, waiting patiently until Merch and Amalie arrive with their own trays, before I dig in.

"This is all so good," Amalie says, sipping some pale, milky soup with eyes wide as oranges. "The Capitol's so good to the tributes."

"Makes you wonder why they let the other districts suffer," I comment, glancing down to a fluffy roll as I slowly butter it up. When I look back up, both Merch and Amalie are silent, mouths puckered as they stare at me. "What did I say?"

"I just don't think that that is something you bring up, Lolita," Merch says, heaving an incredibly forced laugh as he spears a chunk of beef. Bringing it up to his lips and glancing around as if afraid he's going to get caught saying something, he adds in a hushed tone, "But I, too, wonder why the Capitol lets that happen."

"Because they rebelled," Amalie utters quietly. She doesn't make eye contact with anybody. "We were the closest in ties to the Capitol, like the president said."

"That's why she let us into the Quarter Quell," I agree grimly. "Because our districts support the Capitol, in a way. We participate in these Games more than anybody else."

"It could go either way, though," Amalie says. "If you put more of the outlier districts in, boom, you're punishing them. But somehow, since they're putting more of _us_ into the Games, we're being rewarded." She's talking more right now than I've ever heard her talk. And that's coming from me, who's been raised to be seen, not heard.

"I like hearing your guys' comments on this," Merchandise says with a small smile, forking another beef slice. "Though, we probably shouldn't talk about this much anymore."

"You're right," Amalie harmonizes softly.

I stare at them with a sense of mild desperation rising in my mind. I _want_ to talk about the topics that everybody says are so off-limits. I _like_ making my voice be heard like this. It's where I'm happiest, really. Giving my opinion.

If I can't do just that, I feel… lost.

And maybe that was why I volunteered. To make my voice heard. To stand up for something, and for once, be acknowledged for it. I want to be well-known and recognizable to everybody, not just a couple people on my street and my peers. For all I know, they could view me as the strange girl who looks like a doll, that sometimes raises her hand in class.

And I _don't_ want to be that girl.

If my thin chance of winning brings me victory, then I can continue on my master plan. But for now, I have to be me. And currently, that me is sitting behind a tray of delectable edibles.

We all eat in silence for a while, occasionally coughing or smacking our lips, but generally staying quiet. That is, until we're _approached_.

The girl is slim, lithe, and has tanned skin with blond hair. Her lips curve upwards to greet us all, and she gently sets her tray down at the end of the table.

"Hi," she says, voice wavering. She tucks her hands in her pockets and blushes slightly. "I'm Adriana. Do you three think that maybe I could eat with you guys?"

Merchandise is the first to process this and speak. He leaps from his bench, ushering her next to him. "Where are my manners?! Really, I hope we look inviting. You're welcome to sit and eat with us, Adriana!"

He trails off when he notices the food on her tray. "Though you _might_ want to bulk up a bit more, if you know what I'm saying?"

The girl's tray contains barely any food, and the food that is there, is rabbit chow. It's a little stack of green beans, a grapefruit half, and a small pile of glossy brown seeds. Hardly enough food to sustain a tribute in training until the end of the day.

Adriana blushes even more, the red flush in her cheeks turning dark. "It's alright," she says softly, taking her seat. Merch slowly but surely follows.

Staring at the new arrival, not caring if I look like I'm ogling, my mind slowly forms a first impression.

And, contrary to what the gung ho Merchandise and beaming Amalie think about this chick. I'm _not_ happy.

* * *

**Salton Matinee, District Four, Division One**

* * *

Slithering a spoon around the slimy gunk that was once apple-cherry pie, I scout everybody out.

I'm content to be on my own – for now. Gives me time to make up thoughts and impressions about everybody, after all. I'll find an alliance, positively. I just… don't want one at the moment.

I was approached, sure. Zane Ackerman and Akio Kurama. While Zane stammered over the words, Akio was in the background, giggling, puffing up his cheeks to look like a chipmunk, and blowing raspberries with his tongue. Zane might have been fine on his own – I like when people show weaknesses – but paired with that buffoon, I definitely am _not_ up for that alliance.

Plus, who knows whether they'd take advantage of me or not?

Frowning into the pie crust and crimson mixture, I push my plate away and heave a small sigh.

"Salton, right?"

I look up in surprise, heart fluttering quickly, to see the youthful face of the youngest girl from Two, Loren. She and the Reaped girl stand in front of me, smiling and waving.

"Yes," I answer quickly, nodding once or twice before standing and shoving my hand out in front of me to shake hands. Loren pumps my fist with vigor, while the small Asian girl behind her tentatively offers hers up, making full eye contact with the ground as she does.

"Nice to meet you," Loren says with a wink. "I'm Loren Faust of District Two, and… Cheyenne, wanna introduce yourself?"

"I'm Cheyenne," the slim girl in back says softly, eyes lowered.

"She's from District Nine." Loren sighs, shaking her head. "Tough luck, really. Being the only Reaped tribute and all. But hey, it doesn't fade her sparkle!"

_Charming._

I make a move to walk away, picking up the edges of her tray and starting to scurry away from the random loon, but Loren's high voice quickly pulls me back in. "Did ya hear the rumor about Leander and Eira?"

Leander and Eira? My district partners? I _do_ love a bit of gossip.

I quickly place my tray back on the table, before realizing how rude I look – picking up my tray to leave, only to come back when I'm offered a juicy morsel of chatter – and quickly mutter out, "I'm gonna grab some more food, be right back," before making a quick getaway.

Slowly walking up to the line of tributes that have gone back for seconds and picking up another plate, I scoop out different portions of foods, silently thinking to myself. Do Loren and Cheyenne seem alright, aside from Loren's stupid way of talking? I've been so caught up in observing everybody, that I haven't stopped to think who I _really_ would want as an ally.

Spooning up some green bean casserole before retreating back to the table, I arrive just in time to hear the end of Loren's story. "And apparently, back in Leander's neighborhood, they were all curled up under the stars, snuggling on the beach! But, y'know, that's just what I heard."

"Wow," Cheyenne giggles slightly, her cheeks a flared shade of crimson.

I smile winsomely, placing my plate back onto the table and nodding to Loren. "AM I late?"

"Not at all, Salton!" she declares, throwing her arm around me. I reply by carefully looping my own arm around her shoulders. "Just in time to hear my story about Spiridon and Deverra!"

"As much as I'd love to hear that," I say, ducking out of her hold, "we really should be thinking about, um, other stuff."

"What do you mean?" Loren asks, while Cheyenne snaps her gaze to me.

"Well," I respond nervously, "for starters, why did you two approach me?"

Loren shrugs. "You seemed pretty cool. And you are."

"But did you want anything?" I probe, fishing around for that one answer.

"Eh. No."

"Nothing?" I ask, my hopes dashed suddenly – and just a couple minutes ago, I was ready to leave this girl for an empty table. And even Cheyenne looks sad, too.

"Not really. Maybe a lunch date." Loren shrugs, eyes glittering. "Why, did you want something?"

"_No_," I nearly shout, on the verge of growling, but then I quickly quiet down and repeat myself. "No. I don't want _anything_ from you."

"Not even an alliance?"

I look up to meet her eyes fully and realize that they're gleaming with withheld laughter. Within moments, I realize that I've been tricked, and I'm quick to groan and mash my forehead into my hands, listening only to Loren's howling laughter. "You so fell for that!" she cackles, pounding the table with a hand and making Cheyenne look rather frightened. "Of course we want an alliance, you dummy!"

I glower at her, not ready to say a word to this little poser.

She notices this, and coos at me accordingly. "Awh, did I ruin your pride," she chuckles in a moony tone. "Come on, Salton. Don't be such a wet blanket."

Not giving up the scowl, I cross my arms and try not to look into her huge eyes. If I do, I know I'll lose this argument. I know it…

Loren's cold little fingers wrench their way underneath my chin and force me to look up, and then I'm staring at her ice blue eyes, flecked with grey, and my mind has already made up its decision to forgive her.

Sometimes, seeing only the best in people has its disadvantages. Such is the case right now.

"Fine," I hiss, knowing that I'm not seeming very intimidating at the moment. I don't care. She wrecked my pride. "So do you want to be allies or what?"

"Of course I wanna be allies," Loren says, grinning. She wraps her hand around Cheyenne's and the two watch me, both pairs of eyes warm. "We'd like that a lot."

I can't help but smile back.

* * *

**Lynden Avior, District Two, Division Three**

* * *

Leander and I watch Lynch as he jokes around with Imani and Deverra. The two girls exchange a certain look, eyes filled with some sort of malice, before turning back to Lynch and laughing loudly. Fakely.

"They're so artificial," I grumble, half to myself, half to little Leander.

He looks up at me, face pale but his cheeks rosy from exerting strength. "It's sad," he says quietly in that high voice of his. "to know that at the end of the day, we'll have to deal with the mess that they're making."

I force a smile. "It's just who we are, I guess!"

Who we are.

I don't know why Leander and I clicked. As the trainer disbanded us to go out and start training, nearly everybody went for the weapons. Something made me stand back, and I flocked to the nearest survival station to get a rounded practice. Leander was there first, already tying a knot neatly, thanks to his experience back in Four.

Over sailor's knots and dog-eye ties we bonded. It didn't take long, really. We discussed our backstories and families. We talked about how strange it was here, and our reasons for volunteering. He was so open, and I was drawn to that. He's just a sweet little dreamy guy, after all. Kind of shy, but at the same time, moony.

Lynch came to us within minutes. He had shamed himself by trying archery, and that in itself was a train wreck. Cheeks burning and fingers fumbling, he tried out the ropes too, but soon asked that we go to some weapon station, and Leander and me agreed.

Well, once we were there – literally not even a minute after we had arrived to talk to the trainer – in came Imani and Deverra, already fired and pepped up and ready to do some convincing. They swayed us into an alliance. Their silver tongues made me believe that they were genuine – at first, anyways.

But it took until lunchtime for me to figure out how they ticked. Deverra and Imani were like opposing troops in a battle, each trying to outdo the other in an effort for the same goal. Lynch, merely a pawn. And me and Leander? We weren't anything. We weren't important enough to be pawns, and we were unimportant enough so that we weren't exactly invisible.

Like most of the time, I've been pushed aside. But I'm alright with that.

"Do you want to move to a survival station?" I whisper to Leander, curling my fingers around the knife handle, half-heartedly throwing it at a target. It misses by a long shot.

He looks relieved. Multiple knives litter the floor between him and his own red and white target. "Yes, please."

Together we stride across the concrete floor of the gymnasium, listening to multiple _thunks_ into targets and dummies and winded breaths of breathless tributes. Me and Leander, it wasn't like that. It was more of the clatters of weapons onto the ground, and frustrated sighs.

But never upset growls or shrieks like some tributes give off – no. I'm too calm for that, and Leander's living in la-la land half the time.

We arrive at an edible plants station – deserted, just like I thought it would be. Smiling down at Leander, we each take a seat on the counter and the trainer looks grateful to see us. We're obviously the only ones who've decided to venture to his station today, and we've been here _twice_.

"Katniss root."

"Duck-foot root."

"Lily pad."

We rattle off the various names of the plant with ease and finesse. Leander's words are a bit slurred and sleepy, but he still manages to nab them almost every time, and I do about as well.

"We're good at this," I say, smiling once more.

_Always_ smiling.

Just how I was always taught.

"Yeah," Leander says, mouth stretching into a huge yawn. He takes one look at a common dandelion before muffling another one and asking, "Can we go to the weaving section now?"

I chuckle. "Why not," I say, taking the lead as we traipse across to the abandoned weaving station.

"Lynden?!"

The frantic-sounding voice from above me makes my heart thump, but on the outside, I show nothing. Serenely, almost sleepily, I glance around, searching for the source of Lynch's voice.

And then, Leander jabs my elbow and snickers.

I stare up at Lynch, his muscled body caught in a trap of ropes, making him suspended like a fly caught in a spider's web. He wiggles and squirms to get free, yelping like a puppy who got its tail caught in a door.

"What happened?" I call up, striding over to the bottom of the trap and working at a knot. Leander follows suit.

"That little guy down there asked me if I could be his test subject!" Lynch roars, wriggling even more, resembling a mealworm in a block of food.

I glance to see Conner, smirking as he examines his work. Once he realizes I'm looking at him, probably with a dismayed look on my face, he quickly rushes to tug at one of the ropes in particular. Immediately, everything unfurls and Lynch tumbles to the mats below.

"_Sorry_ about that," he says, sneering at Lynch's heavy body. "Just needed to test out my trap."

"Why would you do that?" I ask, watching as Deverra and Imani snicker from a few stations over.

Conner stares at me, no fear evident in his clear brown eyes. Just pride, and surprisingly, offense. "Like I said, I just needed a test subject. I wanted to make sure my trap worked."

"Well, it did, and I _hope_ you're happy."

As Leander follows me to Lynch, who groans dramatically, one thought whirls through my head.

Everybody's a threat here, now. Conner's proved that – I admit, maybe I counted him out because of his age, or stature, or whatever. What if I'm in over my head? What if volunteering was a huge mistake? I was fine at home, I was happy. But what if I don't make it back in any form but a mangled corpse in a flower-laden coffin?

* * *

**Peridot Midas, District One, Division Two**

* * *

Sabryn cackles to herself as she watches the dark-skinned guy fall from ten feet high. Figures on the ground next to him speak rapidly, and I recognize the long face of the young boy called Conner.

"Little, brainy, dorky genius," she sniggers, obviously not complimenting the little boy.

I frown. "Don't be so rude. I feel bad for the guy."

"Really, Peridot?" she scoffs. "When I allied with you, I didn't know you were such a softie."

I glance at my reflection in the sword I'm working with and immediately go back for another look. Admiring my eye color, I murmur, "And I didn't know how much of a priss _you_ were."

Sabryn smirks, reaching for a different sword. "We're evenly matched, then."

"Most certainly," I agree, reaching up to stroke my nose, feeling the bone structure and how defined it is. _Who else has such high cheekbones, honestly? And this skin tone, wow._ Once I realize that Sabryn's giving me a very odd look, I rapidly straighten up. "I agreed with you. What's the problem?"

"You admire yourself way too much, Narcissus," she says off-handedly, going back and stretching her hands over her head, gripping the sword's handle in each.

_Nothing wrong with loving yourself and your body_, I ruminate, snaking up a hand to touch my face before even realizing what I'm doing and shoving it back down.

"Want to duel, Peridot?"

I glance over to Sabryn, see that she's put the sword back. "I'm in the mood for a fight," she says flippantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It would be fencing, by the way. Want to?"

"Sure, as long as you aren't afraid of a little competition," I tease her good-naturedly. I don't miss the snarky eye roll.

She leads me to the fencing station, where a few scattered tributes face off with trainers. No one tribute is fighting another, so we'd be starting something new. Maybe we'll be noticed for being different. Maybe we'll even draw a crowd. Maybe people will root for me. _Who knows, that's the fun in mystery!_

"Two suits, please," Sabryn barks at the wiry trainer behind the counter. "And two of those fencing stick things. Sabres or whatever they are."

I step into the white suit, lightweight over the tight outfit that they've given me to train in. Contrary to the training suit, this one is slightly baggy, and thicker in material. _Darn, nobody can see my muscles now._ But at least it's relatively complimentary to my skin color.

Sliding the helmet over my head and blinking at the sudden change in light, I swivel to face Sabryn.

"Ready, Peridot?" she shouts.

"Whenever you're ready!" I smile kindly at her.

She lunges forward, her sabre flapping against the air. I suck in my stomach, moving out of the way, before quickly swinging my arm around, bringing my sabre weapon with me. She barely touches the blade before dropping to the ground, jutting out a foot that slams against my ankle.

Fumbling but not quite tripping and taking advantage of her position, I ram my own foot into her ribcage. She must barely feel a thing, thanks to the suit, because even though my own foot smarts with pain, she scrambles up with ease, panting.

Swinging her sabre around to meet my own and starting the long fight, we duck, kick, and throw the occasional punch. The trainers stand at the side, ready to rush in, just in case something nasty occurs. But even though Sabryn's bitterer than a lemon at times, she plays fair. And I respect that.

I have a lot of respect for people who resemble me, really.

Letting loose a quick yell, Sabryn charges me, her long legs rushing as she surges forward. I duck neatly to the side, nearly dropping my own weapon. But Sabryn is winded, and meanwhile, I'm only getting started.

I jut out my foot while holding my elbow, faking an injury.

She takes the perfect bait.

Lunging towards me and tripping herself on my foot, she collapses to the ground, a shriek rising from the depths of her throat. Her body on the ground, air knocked out of her lungs, she sits stupidly, blinking and wheezing a bit.

I reach a hand out. "Good game, Sabryn."

She takes it after a moment of staring at it, and offers a sheepish smile before it's completely wiped off her face. It was weird – for a moment, she could have been almost sweet. "Yeah," she says gruffly. "Good game."

I watch the back of her slim figure as she walks to the outskirts and starts taking off her helmet, just before I slide my own armor off. The air is refreshing to my hot skin, like how a tall glass of cold water is perfect relief on a summer's day. Once everything's off, I walk over to Sabryn, whose face is red from exertion.

"Uh, I think I want to take a break," she coughs.

"Really?" I consider this for a second, but remember that yes, she's not a robot and she needs to rest occasionally. "Alright, then."

She skitters over to a water fountain, and I take a seat on a bench near the spear station. From there, I sort of zone out, keeping my mind to myself. Wondering what I'll do when she comes back.

For once, I'll stay quiet, if she wants.

Just because I like Sabryn in particular. And even if we don't get along the best, I'll still protect her. Because no matter what, if you have an ally, a friend, a partner, you do anything for them. It's all or nothing.

Hopefully she feels the same way about me.

* * *

**A/N: Ready Aim Fire by Imagine Dragons.**

**Hiiiiii. Hope y'all enjoyed this update. Sorry it's a little late, writers block, plus, I'm not the quickest updater to begin with, soooo ;o**

**Anyways, yeah, you saw the next 8 tributes, the next chapter will feature the last 8. So if your tribute hasn't been seen much here, then, well, just you wait for the next update, yeah?**

**Confirmed Alliances: Lynch+Leander+Lynden+Deverra+Imani, Cheyenne+Loren+Salton, Zane+Akio, Peridot+Sabryn, Rhett+Ferric, Eira+Briana+Spiridon, Amalie+Merchandise+Lolita+Adriana, Conner, Jaiden, Imogen.**

**Question time, then!**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart? **

**Favorite alliance? Why?**

**Least favorite alliance? Why?**


	7. Savages

.

_**Underneath it all, we're just savages, hidden behind shirts, ties, and marriages.**_

* * *

**Leander Pelion, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

"There is legitimately nobody here!"

I glance up, immediately seeing Lynden's beaming face popping up in the corner of my vision. Chuckling along and nodding, I reply, "They're too caught up in weapons. Everybody's neglecting the survival stations."

"That's where we'll beat them." Lynden reaches out to muss my hair affectionately, acting much older than seventeen years old. "It's good to have an ally who thinks just like me, really."

"And the same goes for you!" I say eagerly, offering up a wide beam. "You're so great."

"Awh, thank you, Leander."

We sit in comfortable silence for a little bit – she blending some berry mush together to create a dull red color, and I spreading the formula over my arm, combined with some damp mud – until she speaks up again. "Camouflage isn't really my thing. I could almost swear that these berries are poisonous, actually."

I grab one of the hard, tiny berries that she's been using and examine it, quickly going over it in my mind, and giving a hard little nod. "You're right. But only toxic if consumed. They're fine on skin."

"I don't feel comfortable," she giggles for a moment before rising to move to the sink. Scrambling to my feet, I follow her, and we wash our skin free of the berry juice. "Just a little OCD thing, you know?"

"Of course, I just want you to feel okay." For some reason, I feel protective over this girl – like she's younger than me instead of older. She almost reminds me of Colby back home – cautious and tentative, fun but careful. It's an endearing sort of thing, especially when there's my friend back home who she's the spitting image of.

"What do you say we –" She's cut off quickly by the speakers crackling before they announce out in a flat tone, "_Ten minutes left of training, tributes."_

"Guess we can't do much."

"We can go meet up with Lynch, Imani, and Deverra." Lynden's smile wavers. "See what's up, you know?"

I plaster on a smile for a moment, zoning out so it looks like I'm agreeing, instead of thinking. I don't like Imani. Nor Deverra. Lynch is alright – agreeable and bouncy, yet he's got more muscle on him than all of us combined. A bit shallow and maybe stupid, but he's affable. And he can protect us. That's all that we need in an ally, right?

"Most likely, it's Deverra flirting with Lynch while Imani hangs on his elbow, trying to get on his good side." It feels cruel to insult the two girls whilst they can't defend themselves, but they've shown _nothing_ redeeming to me besides being pretty little gossipers.

"You're right, most likely," Lynden says grimly, not even sparing a smile as we walk towards the trio. Unsurprisingly, like I'd predicted, Imani is hovering over Lynch, while Deverra is talking a mile a minute.

"Hey, guys!" Lynch booms, eyes flying to me and my friend. "Have a good training day, now didn't ya?"

"A very nice day…" I purse my lips slightly, watching as Deverra shoots me a sneer. "You all seem to be acquainted pretty nicely, too."

"Come and be more _social_, Leander," Imani spits out a coo that was obviously meant to be enticing, but instead sounds like the opposite. "We wouldn't have turned you away, would we have?"

"Never in a million years." Deverra frowns.

Lynch chuckles, giving me a hearty clap on the back. I nearly tumble forward, but maintain my composure and smile sheepishly. "Of course not, little buddy! You and Lynden are like family to me."

"That's nice to hear," Lynden says warmly, fiddling with the end of a short tendril of hair. "Always nice to have an alliance that follows the golden rule, right?"

I smile dreamily at Lynden's pretty voice, and then again, when Lynch's own deep one comes in to respond. "Most definitely."

"Are we doing anything else today?" Imani says snarkily, obviously not liking the limelight when it's not directed towards her. "Any last-minute training ideas we should follow?"

"None." Deverra cuts her off quickly, and the two exchange a glower.

"I think it would be best for everybody to head up, get a nice dinner, and have a good nights' sleep," advises Lynden, smiling kindly. "We all deserve it. It's been a long day."

"Thanks for the advice, Lynden." I turn to her and grin back. "I do love sleep!"

"I'll go up now." Deverra tosses her thick blond hair and strides away with confidence and vim. Imani is the next to go, not even offering up a farewell, and she too, enters an elevator and stares at us blankly as it rises.

"Lynch, shall we?"

"We shall, m'lady," Lynch is quick to joke, grabbing Lynden around her thin waist and pulling her to an elevator. I watch after them as they leave. I think I'm seeing the start of something, but I am not sure what it is.

Quickly realizing that I'm the last one standing, I rush to follow some other alliance – Zane and Akio – and slip into an elevator. They push and shove each other good-naturedly on their way up, until Akio leaves and Zane is left standing awkwardly in the corner.

Trotting out when the elevator hits the District Four floor, I'm immediately welcomed by the mentors, arranged at different spots in the spacious living room. Annie's sitting on a loveseat next to Calder, looking rather frail, but she manages to raise a hand and beam over to me.

And I go and sit over by her, ready to just sit in peace – I don't have to tell her about my day. I rather like the silence.

She seems kinda spacey, too.

* * *

**Amalie Traselle, District Four, Division Three**

* * *

"This day's been so strange," chatters Merchandise as Adriana and Lolita stand off to the side, eyeballing each other up. "So surreal, really. We gained an ally, and solidified our unity!"

I don't know half of what he's saying, so I just nod and kind of murmur in agreement.

I do know one thing, though – this day _has_ been strange. Surreal. It's felt like a dream, really – half the time, I was traipsing along after my younger allies, and the other half, Merchandise was forcing me to throw a harpoon or something, even though I'm barely strong enough to muster the strength to stab a knife.

"It has been a good day, though," I say gently.

Merch beams. "Oh, most definitely! Lolita, Adriana, don't you agree?"

The two, obviously in the middle of a heated chatter, quickly look up. They nod in unison, clearly not even hearing the question, and resort back to their argument.

My ally watches them with a twinkle in his eye and a sigh catching in his throat. He turns to me. "This is the dream team, Amalie," he says passionately.

"I can imagine," I reply softly, my feet slowly drifting me closer and closer to his beautiful eyes…

But, no. I can't think of him like this. Not when it's soon going to be just the two of us. I sigh, taking one longing look at his perfectly sculpted lips, and quickly back myself up with some talk. "Anyways, I think that today was perfect. We trained pretty well, and hey, tomorrow's another day to get our skills kicked out."

"And then is private training," Merch says. "Gonna show them Gamemakers who's the boss?"

I giggle, gently shoving his arm. "Of course I will," I retort, making some serious eye contact with his slight muscles. If I don't look at his pretty, pretty face, I can be more fun and less tongue-tied. "I'll get a twelve and that can back up your guys' puny scores."

From what I can tell from his tone of voice, Merch is making a pouty face. "You mean a three _isn't_ a good score?"

Chuckling again and watching his bicep muscles ripple under the fabric of the jumpsuit, I shake my head. "Aim for the stars, honey – a five might just be the best you can do."

"I'm sure little Lolita can get a ten if she tries," he jests, quickly striding over to his smaller district partner and giving her a hug from the back. She looks stricken at first before realizing who it is, then melting into his embrace. I narrow my eyes slightly, silently berating myself for being jealous of a fourteen-year-old. _Honestly, your parents raised you better than this! She is barely old enough to have a boyfriend, let alone somebody like Merch!_

There it goes again; my jealousy.

"Who are you calling weak?" Lolita jokes with Merchandise, her eyes flickering with a question.

His smile is suddenly tight, but he rapidly covers it up, crooking a finger towards the blushing Adriana. "I'm not one to _point fingers_," he cracks, "but signs _point_ to Adriana!"

She merely smiles, letting it all happen with a serene look on her face. And there, again, I'm jealous of a tween, for having her life more put-together than me. "Funny, funny," she replies calmly, raising a hand, "but let's see who's laughing when I prove you all wrong."

"Yeah, okay," Merchandise laughs, rolling his eyes. He notices me on the outskirts and pouts. "Hey, Amalie, want to talk with us? You're kind of quiet."

I give him a gentle smile and shrug. "You know, I think I might just go up to my floor. I'm getting pretty tired of standing."

"I'll go up, too, then," Adriana says, moving over to be by me. Her eyes flicker over Lolita and Merchandise mysteriously, and she offers a small wave before turning on her heel. I trail in her wake, smiling down at her bouncing ponytail.

Entering the elevator, she jabs the button for our floor, and we stand in utter silence until the doors slide open. From there, we glide in to see the mentors, Leander, and Eira, all arranged like a pretty set of dolls in a dollhouse parlor. Eira has a wooden smile, while Leander's is as natural as a rainfall.

"Nice to see you two came back in one piece," comments Nuke.

"We're allies!" I say cheerfully.

More than a couple of the mentors exchange looks, while Calder and Mysti are quick to clap. "Splendid!" Mysti cheers. "You two are going to be a perfect match!"

"Oh, we're not the only ones in the alliance," Adriana says.

Calder and Mysti frown in near-perfect unison, so I back little Adriana up. "Merchandise – er, Merch – Leighton and Lolita Trancy. They're both from One."

"Ah, I remember them… the guy with the spiky hair and the small Asian?" Calder tilts his head slightly.

'The very same."

"They're not too bad, then," Lana says, considerably livelier than she's been previously. She stares at me and drawls out, "Good impressions at the Reapings. What do they show in training, any promise?"

I frown. "Shouldn't you care more about Adriana and me, rather then our all-"

The elevator doors ping open and out strides Jaiden, head held high with elegance and a haughty look on his face. Nuke brightens considerably and pats the chair across from him, a gleeful grin prancing across his face.

And just like that, we're out of the spotlight. No matter how interested Calder looks at me, or how confused Mysti appears, we're outshined. By _Jaiden_, of all people, who walks around reciting poems and smells like a fish market.

Hushing up for a moment and taking a quiet seat on a small leather chair next to the gargantuan fireplace, I curl my legs up, resting my chin on my bony knees. Adriana follows suit, resting on the ground by Mysti's thin, pale legs.

Jaiden goes on and on about his day in training in detail, occasionally rhyming and smiling flippantly whenever he does, but I barely tune in to any details. I'm too busy thinking – of Lolita, or Adriana, of the things to come, and, of course, Merchandise…

* * *

**Jaiden Castiel, District Four, Division Three**

* * *

"The swords were sleek, shining with pride. The lights, so vibrant, just like the frothing tide."

Smiling with glee at my poem, I peer out from a fringe of hair to my small audience of my fellow district partners and mentors. Most of them look amused, like Annie or Calder. Others look downright bored, like Eira and Lana. Adriana's eyes are closed – perhaps she's comatose.

Closed. Comatose. Not quite a rhyme, but close enough, eh?

I watch Adriana closely – her smooth cheeks, barely slightly flushed from her day of exertion, and my lips quirk up into a small smile. She's pretty with her eyes close. Not pretty in a creepy way, oh no – I've never really been interested in _people_ as mates. But I do think her eyes are appealing to look at.

Before I know it, my time in the limelight is up, soon replaced by Salton, the last to join us. As soon as he strides through the doors, without even asking whether he can talk or not, he throws his hands up joyfully and beams widely, jabbering a mile a minute about his two new allies.

Loren and Cheyenne? The two young girls, both vulnerable and meek? Interesting. I wonder if he is genuine, or planning to take advantage of them.

I don't have any allies yet. I wonder if anybody will approach me and ask for my hand in friendship like the other kids have. A friend _would_ be nice.

I haven't really had any friends before.

Well, there were a couple. But I scared them off. They thought I was a psychotic insane guy, and they wanted no part of the boy who fantasized about drowning.

But really, who doesn't think about death? I know I do, probably more so than most. Ever since my experience, when my heart thumped and I could quite literally taste death's sweetened taste on my tongue.

The water swirling around me, pounding and screaming in my ears, and even through that all, I had nothing to fear.

A rush of ice water flooded my lungs, and a word of prayer rolled off my tongue. Enveloped by the ocean, I felt my muscles seize, I sank ever deeper and my bones began to freeze. My eyes closed tightly as I wept and I wallowed, and I reached inside for strength, but my chest, oh, so hollow… My cries were silenced by the waves against me.

I no longer struggled.

My home was that cold sea.

And, I have to admit, I _liked_ the cacophony.

"Jaiden?"

I glance up quickly to see Mysti, trailing behind the others as they file into the kitchen. An uncertain smile wavers on her thin pink lips. "Do you want any dinner, or are you fine with resting in here?"

"No, no, dinner is just alright with me." I nod briskly. "Give me a moment, don't start any controversy."

She stifles a little whinny, like a horse's neigh, and strides through the doorway.

Staring after her for a moment, my lips forming silent words that might seem, to other human ears, absurd, I knot my fingers together and follow.

A spread, vaster than the highest seas, piled high with food that would soon be part of me. I smiled like a cat ready to pounce on a canary, sliding into a chair next to young Salton and tying a cloth napkin around my throat.

"Shall we begin?" Salton asks politely.

Amalie snorts girlishly across from me. "Of course we can, silly! I've been eyeing up those barbecued ribs for ages now!"

In unison, everybody reaches forward for the platter in front of them. I consult the golden fried fish in front of me, glistening with oil, and carefully spear a large fillet with my fork before shaking it lightly to topple down to my own plate. I then slide the plate to the left, as seems to be common courtesy in this strange new estate.

Salton passes me a white platter stocked with shish-kabobs of varying vegetables, fruits, and meats, and I take two. Before I know it, my plate has almost everything that the table has to offer, plus my cup is filled to the brim with icy, frothy, sweet white milk. Delicious.

"Thank Panem," breathes Eira from my other side, her eyes gazing over her own foods. She unsheathes her fork from the cloth blue napkin and immediately digs into butter-glossed mashed potatoes, closing her eyes in delight.

Meanwhile, Salton's already arranged his steak into smaller portions, and his vegetables, a meager serving, I might add, are pushed to the side. A perfect platter for such a youthful, innocent boy. He notices me staring at him intently, and I can almost swear, there's a sudden, unfriendly chill in the air.

"Something wrong, chap?"

Salton shakes his head, eyebrows thickening into a furrowed brow as he stares at me. "Nothing," he says quietly, stabbing a steak chunk.

I press him, leaning close and inhaling silently. "There must be something wrong," I breathe. "You stared too long. Take a picture, maybe? It-"

"It will last longer," Salton finishes, his expression completely and utterly confused. "Leave me alone, okay, man? Please? I just want to eat some supper."

And so I do back off, but I don't restrain myself from watching Salton. Carefully, carefully, I stare, never giving up the ghost. Seconds melt into minutes, and I watch him, and he must be aware of my gaze, but he never lets on.

A strong-minded boy. I like that.

The type of boy I wanted to be, back in my youth. That was my dream, and it was a simple one.

Now I have a dream, but it's a lot more messed up than wanting to have confidence.

I want to _drown_.

* * *

**Briana Valleri, District Two, Division Two**

* * *

"Dinner is so delicious," I moan, shoveling another forkful of vinegary greens into my mouth, not caring if I look like a slob. I mean, why do I care what my district partners think? I'm not allied with them. "I love this salad."

Lynch, from across the table, snorts as he stares down into his macaroni. "I knew you ate nothing but rabbit food," he gruffs.

I ignore the boy, instead turning to Slate, on my side, and saying, "How's your soup?"

He smiles kindly down at me. "Very cheesy, thank you," he says, holding up a spoonful of the steaming orange stuff. "I take it your salad's good."

"I'm _soooo_ full, though," I huff, folding my arms over my belly, still damp from sweat from training earlier, and I exhale. "Today took a lot out of me, but I'm glad that I got all this food to refresh me."

"Yes, food does that," Conner says sarcastically, delicately cutting off another wedge of his grilled chicken. I scowl over at the little boy, who offers me nothing but a snarky smirk.

"People need to learn when to keep their mouths shut," I grumble quietly, but of course, Lynch has to hear me, and he busts in with, "Such as yourself?"

"You hush up," I growl. "I'm talking about certain littler tributes."

"At least I'm making a difference in the training center!" Conner argues loudly, nearly yelling. His forehead is glossy with perspiration – maybe that little shout gave him a workout. "Trapping Lynch and snaring the rabbits without bending a finger. You, meanwhile, were either laughing with Eira or throwing yourself at Spiridon!"

My cheeks flare up, and I can't believe I'm letting this little bugger get to me. "Yeah, well at least I'm not ugly," I shoot back, knowing that it won't do me any good to deny him.

Conner sits back in his chair, smirking even more, satisfied at the answer. "Whether or not I am ugly, it's your own fault if you get a low score in training. I fully intend to show off all my-"

"Put away the dictionary, short stack," I hiss.

He shakes his head. "I'm appalled by the lack of dignity you girls have," he says in a cruel voice. He turns to Loren, who's innocently gnawing away on a corn cob next to him. "Allying with the Reaped and the most handsome boy you could get. And you, Lynden…" Conner trails off, frowning, but quickly folds his hands together and shakes his head again, muttering to himself.

"No need to get testy, Conner," Helios says disapprovingly, lips twisted in a frown.

Conner starts to say something back, but I shake my head at _him_, pushing my chair away from the table. "I'm going to the living room, who's with me?"

"I'm game," says Lynden agreeably, smiling as she rises to join me. Akio starts to hop up from his chair to follow her, but the laces of his boots quickly get caught underneath his chair, and he tumbles to the ground, bringing the chair on top of him. Lynden coos in concern, immediately flying to his side, but I merely stifle a laugh and watch him, flailing madly like a turtle caught on its back.

He lets out a loud squawk and I can't help it, and I don't care if it's mean – I do start laughing.

Lynden, however, glares furiously at me as she undoes the knots in his laces. "How dare you laugh at him," she hisses quietly. "He's caught, and you're making fun of him."

"It's funny, though," I giggle, but she doesn't quit glowering at me. As people crowd around Akio to swoon over him in his injured state, I'm left out of the picture, and craving the spotlight once more.

But it's over.

I huff angrily, flouncing away from the scene and into my bedroom, where I promptly slam the door behind me and move to my private bathroom. Glaring at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I begin to strip myself of my training jumpsuit, leaving on only a black tank top and a tight pair of shorts.

After rifling through the closet and finding a respectable lavender-colored romper and slipping it on over myself – skin still raw from being plucked like a chicken by my prep team – I venture back to the bathroom, turning back to my reflection once more.

I don't scowl like I did previously. I smile, a little at first, and then more. I notice how my lips dip into a sharp cleft when I'm not making any faces at all, but that cleft quickly forms a U-shape when I smile. My eyes, cobalt in color, are flecked with green.

It's funny how you don't realize little things about yourself when you're caught up in somebody else.

Stanley, for example.

His name coming into my mind for the first time since I left Two, I can't help but shudder at the impact that the one word has. I turn and stride to my bed, curling up on top of the covers and resting my head on the headboard, wrapping my arms around my smooth legs.

Stanley was my world. He was my everything. He was… my boyfriend.

And I left him.

When he screamed my name at the Reaping, I had half a mind to turn back, to let the other girls battle it out in their animalistic ways. But, no. I don't play by his rules – I don't play by anybody's rules. I ran to the stage, adrenaline pumping through my veins like a drug, and I spat my name out with pride.

Am I proud of what I was, back then?

It was two days ago. I still remember it vividly, in such detail and emphasis.

Maybe I should ask myself an easier question.

Do I miss Stanley? Yes, I do, with every fiber of my being. I might not play by the rules, but he was the closest I've come to for bending that one thing about myself.

I will come back to Two, though. That's the promise I made to him.

And I will get him out of jail, if it's the last thing I do.

* * *

**Ferric Gauven, District One, Division One**

* * *

"What to do with you two?" Lincoln, my mentor, leans against the stone wall that surrounds the fireplace, tapping her blue pen against her pillowy lips. "You won't get along, in my opinion, you don't have allies in common, and you two are as different as night and day."

Peridot, resting regally in the leather chair next to me, flickers his gaze to her, his sculpted lips frowning. "We're fine, I think."

"Definitely," I chirp, resting against the arm of the sofa. "I can get along with Peridot. He's a cool guy."

He smiles over at me, his cool and hardhearted mood gone. "Aw, mutual feelings, little buddy!"

We both turn to Lincoln, grinning with smiles sunnier than the brightest dawn.

See, I like it here. I may be the youngest in all the pools of tributes, but there's a difference between age and maturity. Though I may be small, I can get on with people like Peridot easily. As long as _they're_ open, accepting, chipper, I can work with them.

"Do you two want to talk about your days, if you can get on so well?" Lincoln asks, lips curling into a small frown, her permanent glare unfading.

"I, for one, had a lovely training day," I burst in with a grin. "I found an ally, even – Rhett Valdez of District Nine, and we're having a wonderful affair."

"That sounds so wrong," Lincoln grumbles.

"Fine, then." I wave my hand dismissively. "It's a great time, just the two of us, if you're picking up what I'm putting down."

"Peridot!" she nearly yells, obviously trying to avoid my subtle innuendos. "What about _your_ day?!"

"Well," he says carefully, "you know I'm allied with Sabryn, and that's the only ally that I intend to have. We just took it slow today, fenced a bit, and yeah, generally honed our skills. We're not incompetent or anything."

Lincoln beams triumphantly, gesturing to the blond boy like he's some sort of model. "See, Ferric? This is what you should aim for. Don't be silly."

"Pardon me for speaking my mind," I joke, trying not to let the hurt show on my face. But I do hush up for a moment, reigning myself in.

I'll admit, it's hard to quiet down. I've always been the stereotypical kid who just won't shut up, and I like it that way. It usually brings a smile to people's faces, and I've made many a friend as a result of it. But some people, clearly, are annoyed by this aspect of me, my own mentor being one.

"Oh, look, the rankings are on!"

Pelly's excited voice breaks through the quiet murmurings of mentors and their tributes, and everybody's gaze collectively snaps to the large television screen. Rows and rows of names and small numbers roll across the screen, and I manage to scope out my own name, throughout twenty-three others.

_Ferric Gauven, District One, Division One. Predicted Placement: 23rd._

My heartbeat is suddenly sporadic and misplaced. Sweat breaks out on my palms and I blink, watching the screen blankly and wiping my hands on my trousers. The Capitol predicts me to be twenty-third? And as it appears, the only one they think will die before me is that little Reaped girl.

They really have no faith in me?

My heart sinks as Peridot crows over his own predicted placement – sixth – and tries to give me a high-five. I limply slap his outstretched hand, nodding meekly as he goes around the room, congratulating everybody.

I act like this kind of stuff doesn't phase me. Inside, it drives me crazy, eating at my very soul.

Frowning and shaking my head, I stand up. I can't let this get to me. I need to keep a happy outlook, boost somebody else up. And in return? Maybe I'll get a little satisfaction back.

"Good job, Peridot!" I holler across the room, and he hears me, offering the biggest smile I've ever seen on him.

"Congratulations to you, too, Ferric!" he shouts, obviously unaware of the crummy prediction that I received. His grin is wide, unfading, and our other district partners who placed high are also whooping it up obliviously.

Lolita, from across the room, casually sits by me, placing a small, cold palm on my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I say automatically, giving her a grin.

"You don't seem alright." She frowns. "Is it because of your Capitol prediction?"

I heave a sigh, and Lolita wraps her bony arms around my shoulders. "Don't worry, Ferric. I was predicted twenty-first, if it makes you feel any better."

Smiling slightly at her attempt to cheer me up, I embrace her back. "A little bit, I guess. Maybe I was just hoping for too much. I mean, I am young, I guess I might as well be predicted dead last. I shouldn't let it get me down."

Lolita's smile is soft and miserable, even though her eyes are warm. "Exactly. It means absolutely nothing, Ferric. You could prove them all wrong – I certainly intend to."

"You go and do you, Lolita." I rub her shoulder gently, supportively. "I have a feeling that you'll do just that."

Her expression, though kind, is distant and somewhat blank. "If I weren't allies with Merch, Amalie, and Adriana… Ferric, you would have been my first choice."

"The same to you, Lolita." I gaze adoringly at my fellow district partner. "The same to you."

* * *

**Loren Faust, District Two, Division One**

* * *

"Be right back, Lance!"

Skittering down the hall, smiling in the aftermath of Lance's joke, I close the door behind me. Humming as I open my closet, I sift through the rows and rows of different clothes until I find a section of pajamas, where I immediately find a navy nightshirt to my liking.

Sliding the shirt on over my black leggings and tying my hair up into a tight little bun, I quickly slide back to the hallway, grinning as I see my mentor, looking rather sleepy.

"Hi!"

"Hey, Loren." He smiles meekly.

I follow him to the large outdoor balcony, leaving the quiet living room behind me. Taking a seat on one of the deck chairs, propping my feet up on a wooden table, I sigh contentedly, gazing up at the inky night sky.

"The Capitol looks so beautiful at night," Lance comments. "Hard to believe what these people do…"

"I know," I sigh. "I mean, I'm not really one to talk, because I volunteered and all, but-"

"Why did you volunteer?" Lance interjects. When I turn to face him, no doubt wearing a confused expression, he quickly follows up with, "I mean, if you want to tell me. I'm your mentor. I'm bound to be curious. You just… don't seem the type, if you know what I'm saying."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, most of Two's volunteers are burly and mean and rude. Also, possibly insane." Lance shrugs. "You're not like that at all. You're sweet and kind. And I want to know why."

I tap my finger against my lips playfully, thinking. "My parents, mainly. I know it's cliché, half the tributes in Two are training because of their parents, but… mine never really expected me to volunteer, I think."

Lance frowns. "I'm a bit lost. Help me?"

"Okay, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a _bit_ complicated." I stifle a small giggle. "So, to begin, I should let you know that they're actually really supportive of me."

"Yeah, I get that much. Tell me why you volunteered."

"I wanted to train ever since I was six. My father loved the idea. He'd always wanted a victor – he is just a tad bit selfish, and he never got to carry out his own Games dream, and hey, I was the perfect candidate for it, wasn't I?"

"Of course." Lance smiles softly. "So that's why – you wanted to please them?"

"No, it wasn't my choice, either." I sigh. "It was the academy – I was the best trainee that they've got for my age group. They… they bribed me. My family."

"But the risk, Loren!" Lance's smile melts into a worried frown.

"I don't know why I did," I sigh heatedly, turning my head away from him.

And yet, in all truth, I know exactly why I did. I'm obedient, too obedient. I couldn't stand letting the academy down, not when I'm the best shot they've got. They said they asked nobody else. I wanted to please them.

And so, I said yes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I know. I just… didn't want them to be let down. Not when I could be the cause of their happiness.

In a way, I'm like those service dogs that the disabled in our district have. The ones with the colorful vests and salivating tongues, that can do simple tasks for their owners, the ones who can't even press a light switch or open a door. I've seen them, multiple times, with their blank expressions and muted whimpers. They're trapped. They did too well, and they paid the price – being a slave until their days end.

Yeah, that pretty much sums up my experience here.

"But it's not like I'm gonna let a reason get me down, yeah?" I try a smile. "Come on, Lance. It's been a kind of cool time so far. I've met good people. You, Cheyenne, Salton, and all of my district partners, plus I got to try all this cool food and stuff!"

"You are right…" Lance gently nibbles on his lip. "Humph. I guess I'm just sort of let down… I mean, you could have excelled back in the district, then volunteered right when you were in your prime…"

I giggle. "Who's to say that I'm not in my prime right now?" I stand up from my chair and twirl around a little, letting my loose hair swish neatly around my shoulders. "Maybe I'd have died young back in the district – at least, here, if I die, it's justified."

"You use big words for such a little girl," Lance sighs.

Another laugh escapes me. "Well, hey, my parents did say I was mature." I stop spinning and gingerly take a seat on the chair, admiring the spinning sky, dappled with beaming stars. "And I was number one in my division of training."

"So, in a way…" Lance pauses. "You _did_ ask for this."

"Not up-front about it, but, well, yeah." I slump against the chair, letting my eyelids flutter shut. "Can we please talk about something else now?"

"Sure. How about your alliance?"

Any fallen vigor in me immediately sparks back up, white-hot and eager. I nod quickly, grinning like a fool. "Cheyenne is so sweet! And Salton's so cute, too!"

"Don't get attached to them," my white-haired mentor warns, his face shadowed by a dim light that's attached to the top of the balcony doorframe. His face looks hollow, like he's a character in a ghost story or something. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Frowning, I reply, "Well, too late. I'm already attached. Come on, Lance, don't you think I can take it? I mean, yeah, I know that if I'm gonna win, everybody else – even Salton and Cheyenne – are dying, but… for now, I mean…"

Lance shakes his head, looking much younger than he is. "Loren…"

"I mean, honestly!" I stand up, glaring at him. He stares back up at me with a slightly marred expression, but I continue, defiant blood coursing through my veins. "I know what I can take, and what I can't – you don't. You met me a couple of days ago."

"But Loren, I'm your m-"

"You're my mentor, yeah, yeah, yeah." I fake a gag and place my hands on my hips, shaking my head. "I don't know why I'm acting up, but this is making me real mad, and I think I'm just gonna go to bed right now."

"Probably a good idea." Lance's face is unreadable.

I storm away, flouncing off with as much dignity as I can muster up, but still feeling the need to be polite. After all, it's not like he has done something to truly offend me. "Good night, Lance."

"Good night, Loren."

* * *

**Akio Kurama, District Two, Division Two**

* * *

It's glossy, cream-colored, absolutely dripping in rainbow magnificence. Its color is brighter than the most glorious of something heavenly – like a ruby shining in a cave of dull coal. Gingerly, I dip the tool into the softness and bring it upwards.

Ice cream.

Vanilla ice cream.

I shovel it into my mouth, tasting the sweet coldness flow over my tongue, before quickly thrusting the spoon back into the mound of dessert and swiping up another spoonful. It's delicious.

Hestia's eye twitches. "When you're done making out with that ice cream, please talk to me."

Moaning slightly, I go back for another spoonful. "Yeah, I'm sorry, this is just too good to pass up."

"Ice cream?"

"District Two was all about the vegetables," I growl. "Health food. They trained us to be people with no sweet teeth."

"I know." Hestia smiles. "I lived there. Still do, actually."

I roll my eyes, pushing around some melted ice cream with my spoon. "Yeah, well, sue me for appreciating the fine dining that this place has to offer."

Hestia leans in a little, bending her head to the side in a little tilt. "You're more mature than I put you for," she says.

Shrugging and smiling to myself, I wave my spoon in the air. "Hey, I might seem a wee bit annoying at first, but I promise I'm better than that."

"Does Zane mind?"

The mention of my ally makes my ears perk up, my heart flutter. "Zane? He likes me enough. I mean, I'm the one who approached him, but… you know, we're close. We're _pals_."

"Should certainly hope so." Hestia smiles. "A trustworthy ally surely is a welcome addition to the Games."

"Most definitely," I say, smiling.

She gets a dreamy look in her eye and begins to go off on some tale about her allies in her arena, how even when the waves started dissolving the hills, they stuck together, and how she didn't give up when the going got rough, and I sort of zone out, head leaning forward, forehead clasped in my hands.

The arena's gonna be so much fun – like one giant jungle gym, almost. I think I might have a good shot at winning – I _know_ I have a good shot at winning. I can do this, as long as I keep a clear head.

Right – like that's gonna happen.

My mind has always been jumbled, like a tangle of yarn. I've always been able to overcome it, though, and get through to what really matters. And, well, at the moment, the only thing I need to accomplish is victory.

I do believe I can do it. And obviously, Hestia believes in me, too.

Running a hand through my unruly black hair and depositing my dish at the sink, still containing traces of milky ice cream, I soon wander back to the living room, where a couple of my district partners are gathered, chattering. Lynch and Lynden are having some heated argument, while Conner and Briana are insulting each other. _Fun_.

Wonder where I can fit in here.

I sidle up next to Briana, half-listening to her conversation with Conner over her alliance, and start admiring her glossy brown hair. It isn't long before she feels my gaze on her and whirls around, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Pardon me for asking, but were you _sniffing_ my _hair_?"

My own eyes widen in innocence. "Me?" I sputter out, playing the unjustly accused. "No, never!"

From behind Briana, Conner frowns slightly at me, his chocolate eyes deep in thought. "I thought I saw his nostrils flare," he murmurs gently, his words a lot more meaningful than his stupid soft tone of voice.

"Okay, calm down, I wasn't sniffing your hair." _Would probably smell like a landfill, anyways, considering what type of person you are._ "You're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"I'll take your word for it," Briana huffs, turning back around to Conner, her miffed expression never giving up. Shrugging, I lean back on the couch, casually crossing my legs and arms and silently observing everybody.

It's not long before little Loren comes rushing into the room from the balcony, eyes misted over with tears and cheeks flushed red.

"Hi," she says to me, plopping herself down on the seat next to me, quickly getting consumed by multiple cushions. "How are _you_ doing?"

I'm not stupid. She sure sounds sarcastically snarky right now.

"I'm doing alright," I say cautiously, suddenly getting the _bright_ idea into my head to cheer up the little girl. "Hey, do you like _clowns_?!"

"What," she deadpans.

Leaping out of my chair, a goofy grin plastered onto my chin, I swoop down to pick up three little golden balls from the coffee table centerpiece of sparkling ornaments, and before Loren knows what's happening, I'm juggling, chuckling like a maniac as the balls are thrown ever-so-delicately into the air.

Well… until they come crashing down and splintering into multiple shards.

Hissing in pain as some of the shards touch upon my foot, I gingerly hop onto the coffee table, but oh, what a calamity _that_ causes, too! I knock over the ornamental centerpiece, spilling over even more glittering balls onto the ground. They sure don't bounce well.

Lynden gasps softly as the mentors rush into the room, faces set with seriousness. Lance looks almost amused, while all Hestia can give me is a stony glare, pursing her lips and shaking her head in disappointment.

I've messed up, like I always do.

Hanging my head, biting my lip to try and combat the pain of the shards in my feet, I slowly tread to my bedroom, feeling everybody's eyes on me. Where I can be alone.

Where I won't mess anything up.

* * *

**Imogen Khareen, District Nine, Division Two**

* * *

Zane smiles at me.

Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, nodding very curtly at him, I try and look away from his warm eyes, his awkward little grin.

"Imogen?"

"Yeah?" I say coldly. I don't want to get into a conversation with him.

Smile wiped completely off his face, Zane leans in closely to me. "Is something wrong?" he mutters. "Roland and Olivander made this exercise so that-"

"We could get to know each other better," I say bluntly, cutting him off. I nod slowly. "I remember, Zane. I was there. I'm not deaf."

He frowns. "You don't have to be so rude," he huffs.

_Yes, I do. I can't let you see the real me._

But instead of saying how I really feel, I shove those feelings back down, forming a hard little ring of hurt somewhere in my gut. "Yeah, well, if you don't like it, then I'm sorry for you," I snark.

Zane sighs slowly and leans back in his chair, eyes wandering to the other two couples around the room. Rhett's stroking nervous Cheyenne's hair, and Spiridon and Deverra are pretty cool to each other, too. Looks like the general dynamics of District Nine are utterly failing.

"Hey, wanna at least get to know each other's life back in Nine?"

I throw my hands up. "Why not?"

He looks so hopeful. "Did you have many friends back in District Nine?"

Nibbling on my lip gently, staring blatantly at Zane and his huge, hopeful eyes, I nod slowly. "One. Her name's Cali. You?"

He suddenly looks shocked and somewhat hurt. Man, this kid scares easily. "Um, I didn't have… well, I wasn't the most… um, I was not the most popular kid, if you catch my drift." He laughs shakily.

"Well, that's alright," I say, consoling him. But I quickly force the kind feeling back down, my gut aching as I do it for the second time in a short while. "You don't need friends to achieve."

"They sure woulda been nice, though," Zane mutters thoughtfully, resting his chin on the table, crossing and uncrossing his eyes. "I mean, somebody to share your life with… instead of just watching the friendships all around you, you know?"

"I can see what you mean." I nod.

"Everybody was so… friendly to other people. I just don't get why they weren't friendly to me." His eyes are big and mournful as he twists his hands in the loose fabric of his navy blue sweater. "I was nice. I would have been a good friend."

"You have Akio, now, though, don't you?"

"He's sort of a spaz," Zane groans. "I mean, a friend is a friend is a friend, right? He's just… he's clumsy and sort of stupid."

"You have the common sense to see that, though."

"Yeah, I know, but it would be sort of nice to have somebody else to kind of moderate him…" he sighs again and, all of a sudden, his eyes are lit with energy. "Hey… would you want to join-"

"No."

"But why not?" All of a sudden, he goes from a whiney guy to some big baby, looking rather upset and offended. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," I say, "but I just-"

"Here's an easier question, why won't you ally with me and Akio?" Zane's face is stretched, worried. His cheeks flush red. "We're open, we'll be good allies…"

"I'm sure you would be," I begin, "but-"

"_Please_ ally with us." He clenches my hand, jaw tight with nervousness. "I'm begging you, Imogen. You don't have to trust us or anything… just to be there and talk sometimes…"

I sigh – am I really doing this? – and offer up a little nod.

Might as well get the boy off my back.

Before I know it, he's leapt out of his chair and is hugging me, tightly. My heart's beating like a drum and my fists are clenched, arms stiff, spine rigid. I hate hugs. I don't particularly _like_ Zane, either.

But I suppose that, in reality – it is better than being alone. Ups your odds and all that. Back home, Cali was the only person that I trusted, and she was the only one to see me for who I really was. I kept my friends close, enemies closer.

Perhaps I can twist this alliance in my favor, too – I mean, Zane quite literally begged me for it. If he's that desperate, he's most likely going to do just what I ask. Maybe this isn't a bad thing. Maybe I just need to lift the stupid scowl off of my face, quit being a grumpy girl all the time.

Be charitable for once.

I quietly excuse myself, removing myself from the embrace of my newfound ally, and stroll silently to the safety of my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Peeling off my restricting black jacket and moving to the spacious bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror.

Pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Bruiselike markings lining the undersides of my eyes from lack of sleep. Skinny arms with bony elbows. Prominent collarbones. A pert nose.

I look nothing like what a typical volunteer should look like – like Deverra, with her fierce eyes and luscious hair and curvaceous form. Or Spiridon, with his big hands and muscular body.

Let's face it, I look weak.

But I know that I'm not weak. I've survived a lot more than most of these people, I can bet. My experiences have shaped me, made me thick-skinned and ready to fight with a clenched jaw and fists ready to strike out. I'm smart, too, smarter than many.

The only thing that worries me is my mind, though – I think _too_ much.

But, hey… Everybody's got their own personal story, right?

What's another one, then – mine?

* * *

**A/N: Savages by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**Yeaaaaah, sorry for the delay. I really am. Writing a finale and an epilogue to my other stories (Contrary and A Shot in the Dark, aay!) kind of tied me up, plus just life in general. But hey, I'm here now. And the POV word count will go down, too – from 1,000 words each to 500. So updates should come relatively quicker.**

**Everybody gets two more Capitol POV's – a regular POV and an interview POV. So, yeah, look forward to those!**

**I'd also really appreciate if you voted on the favorite tribute poll, too – the more votes, the better! It can be found on my profile.**

**Confirmed Alliances: Lynch+Leander+Lynden+Deverra+Imani, Cheyenne+Loren+Salton, Zane+Akio+Imogen, Peridot+Sabryn, Rhett+Ferric, Eira+Briana+Spiridon, Amalie+Merchandise+Lolita+Adriana, Conner, Jaiden.**

**Question time! :)**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart?**

**Who would you personally have allied with, given the chance?**

**Who would you most definitely not have?**


	8. Fool's Gold

.

* * *

_**It's not a game of give-or-take, don't bend and you won't break.**_

* * *

**Zane Ackerman, District Nine, Division Two**

* * *

It's early morning when I wake up.

Stifling a yawn, snuggling deeper into the comfort that the cushiony bed offers me, I'm just about to hit the sack once more before I hear some muffled noises coming from the living room. Usually I'd pass this off as my father going to get a midnight snack or something, but this isn't home. It's the Capitol, and anything can be something else here.

I slide out of bed, wiping the sleep from my eyes, and walk into the living room, only to find Roland, throwing a log in the blazing fireplace. He glances over at me, his eyes glossy, and nods.

Without a word, I gingerly take a seat on the edge of the sofa. Roland soon comes over, sits on a chair next to me, and massages his temples with the tips of his fingers.

"I made an ally in Imogen," I say simply. He doesn't know yet. The deal was made last night.

He nods slowly. "How was that arranged?"

For some reason – and it's weird – one always feels the need to be cordial and polite and fancy around Roland. This time is no different. "Well, um, you see, we were just talking to each other, like you had organized us all to mingle, and I persuaded her."

Haha, I 'persuaded' her. It was more like I begged, and I was aware of that. Imogen didn't seem to mind, at least. I mean, she said yes, didn't she?

"That's wonderful, Zane." Roland closes his eyes briefly. "So… I forget, forgive me… who else is in your alliance?"

"It's alright." I sit back in my chair, tucking my legs into a pretzel sort of shape. "Akio, from Two. He's alright, a little cocky, but he approached me and that's what matters."

To be perfectly honest, Akio annoys me. He's not really up to my standards, but then again, who am I to judge? The guy who couldn't even get a friend back at home. The thing I like about Imogen is that not everything about her is on display – there's some mystery lurking about. That's why I asked her to be allies. The sheer thought of having somebody mysterious enough to like me was thrilling.

"Well, that's good. As long as you trust them."

Trust…

_Trust_…

Roland closes his eyes once again, this time maybe to doze off, but my mind's working overtime, my heart thumping against my chest rapidly. What am I doing, am I _stupid_?!

I don't know anything about Imogen – she's mysterious, and that's all I know, aside from she scowls a lot and crosses her arms more often than that. I don't honestly know anything about her – she could be plotting to kill me in the bloodbath!

My palms break out in sweat, and Roland softly begins to snore, but now I can't even gather up the strength to go back to bed. I'm still reveling in the fact that I'm an idiot, so much of an idiot that I let my shallowness get in the way of my own well-being.

I'm such a _dolt_!

* * *

**Cheyenne Macrae, District Nine, Division One**

* * *

My eyes flutter open and I breathe gently, a small smile placed on my chin as I fold the blanket away from me, yawning till my jaw hurts and stretching my hands up to the ceiling. Swinging my legs out of bed, sliding my feet into the conveniently placed fluffy pale blue slippers, I stare blearily out the large picture window.

Should be a good day. It's sure had a good start to it.

But it's bound to be busy – a half-day of training, then private training sessions, and interview prep with our mentors and escort after all of that. I should probably get some food chowed down.

Shuffling out of my room after fixing my bird's nest of hair, I immediately see Rhett emerging from his room at the opposite side of the hall, clad in a fluffy white robe that's at least four sizes too big for him. He wears red pajama bottoms and his chest is bare. Once he sees me, he pats me heartily on the back, grinning, making me clam up slightly. _Why is this guy touching me… I do not like this…_

"Good to see you still alive, Cheyenne," Rhett comments peppily, clutching my shoulder tightly. "After all, it's not gonna be a fun time waking up when you're six feet under, am I right?"

I worm out of his grasp, stomach already churning. My brain goes into a mild frenzy. Six feet under? He means I'm going to be dead.

But I don't want to die.

Palms sweaty, I edge my way to the kitchen, avoiding Rhett as he chuckles away. Olivander's already in there, swallowing a little pill with a glass of water. I cautiously plop myself down on a high stool, smiling tentatively as he ogles me up. "Morning," I say gingerly.

"G'morning to you, too, sweety-bun," he slurs, nodding tipsily towards me. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yeah," I bleat out, nodding rather skittishly. "I… I did. How about you?"

"Here and there and everywhere," he says mysteriously before downing the glass of water in a single gulp and setting it down in the sink. "Anyways, today's a big day, you needed rest, didn't y-you?"

He still has the stammer. Sighing, I nod. "I'm pretty lucky. No bad dreams or anything, at least."

"Ah, yes, very good!" Olivander beams toothily. "Private training lessons plus a half day of training – and then a big night to add to that! And no bad dreams, you say?"

"Not a single one."

"Even better," he says happily, filling up the glass with some more water.

I manage a little grin back before going and opening the fridge, plucking out a little dish of vanilla pudding and placing it on the table in front of me. Maybe I can't control everything in my life, but I can control the smaller things. Meaning, I can have whatever I want for breakfast, and nothing can change that, even if it's stupid.

I can control something.

Maybe I'm more like Loren than I thought.

* * *

**Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Division Three**

* * *

"Lynch, hi."

"Lynden!" I'm cheerful as I stride towards her, embracing her somnolent form, disheveled hair, bleary eyes and all. "Happy morning!"

She smiles up at me calmly. "Well, happy morning to you, too," she says with a lilt of a laugh in her voice. "Sleep well?"

"Better than ever," I say dismissively, pulling away from her and hurrying to the kitchen, where my nose takes me. I smell something – something good. Like bacon. And eggs. And syrup and pancakes. My most favorite breakfast foods – though, to be perfectly honest, I'll eat anything that's not nailed down.

I take a seat, grinning widely at my fellow district partners, and promptly dig into a mound of muffins.

Lynden takes my side tentatively, gazing out at the others – Briana and Loren, in particular. Lynden is kind of meek and quiet if I think about it, but in the end, she's pretty nice. Kind, I guess. And it sure doesn't hurt that she's _pretty_ pretty.

Though that's not why I allied with her – surely not.

Or maybe I did?

Guffawing to myself, shaking my head, I try to force myself not to think like that. Lynden's strategic, or something like that. At least that's what I've been told, and I follow authority and what authority tells me. I mean, yeah, sure, I can be bold when I like – but I can also be a follower, if I so wish.

Maybe that's what Kronos means when he says I'm real. People can relate to me, I guess.

But who cares about listening to your mentor when there's a platter of assorted cheeses and muffins stacked high in front of you?

Licking my lips, I grab hold of a chocolate chip muffin, munching it happily as I listen to Kronos rant on and on about how today should count, and how I have not just strength to back up my looks, but also weaponry skills. Yeah. Fun. More work for Lynch, am I right?

"Calm yourself," I splutter with a mouthful of muffin, nearly gagging myself on the chunk of chocolate that conveniently lodges itself in my throat. As I swallow the rest of my devoured muffin, trying to fish it out with my tongue, Kronos only rambles on. I don't listen, though – I'm too busy thinking about today.

I doubt I'll be doing much today in training – probably chatting with Imani and Deverra more than launching spears or notching arrows. Lynden and Leander…? I'd love to hang out with them, too, but something tells me that they don't like our newfound allies too much.

Eh. Doesn't matter.

We'll all get along eventually.

I'll _make_ us get along, even if I have to drag them all together and start dancing around a fire to get them to laugh in unison.

Well, maybe not that – but you get the gist. I'll do whatever it takes. I'm a person who does stuff like that. Build bridges and all that.

I'll make this all work.

* * *

**Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

I fiddle with my braid awkwardly, avoiding the gazes of Leander and Jaiden as they follow me into the elevator. My eyes gaze at the floor like it holds the secrets of the universe. In other words, I'm trying to avoid just about everybody today. I can't be off my game.

I need to concentrate.

Closing my eyes briefly, inhaling, pushing any negative, depressing thoughts out of my head, I channel my inner Adriana. Calm. Serenity. Peace.

The elevator doors slide open before I know what's happening and I trail after Jaiden and Leander, keeping a gracious smirk plastered tightly to my lips.

Briana immediately bounces up to me, her hair in a perky ponytail and cheeks rosy from cheer. Spiridon shadows her, biting his lip tightly and giving me a nod. "Morning, Eira!" Briana chirps.

"Good morning," I say, smiling curtly. "How was your night?"

"Boring as usual," she sighs, linking her arm in mine and pulling me to the trident station before I can even begin to say anything. "But, hey, at least we have weapons to entertain us now, don't we?"

"Hold up," Spiridon calls from behind us, and Briana and me share a groan as he continues on. "Shouldn't we have some sort of vote on this, on what to do today?"

"You can do whatever you want, gramps," Briana snarks. "Eira and me, we're doing tridents."

"Actually…" I pull myself gently away from her grip. "I was thinking about doing some wrestling. I want to increase my muscle mass, if you know what I mean?" Her smile visibly falters, eyes narrowing. I don't give up the ghost, though. "We did everything that you or Spiridon wanted to do yesterday. Maybe it's my turn to decide?"

"But of course," Briana spits out bitterly, forcing a smile that's so fake, a fable about a dragon and a prince would pale in comparison. She gestures abruptly to the side. "You and Spiridon go roll around on the wrestling mats. I'm not coming. You can't tell me what to do."

I frown, my own smile being wiped completely. "First off, I never said you had to come with. You can calm down, if you want?"

She rolls her eyes, striding away. I can hear a cuss word whispered under her breath as she does so, but I don't complain.

It'll only make my mission not to get attached, even easier.

Spiridon, meanwhile, still hovers in the backdrop. "Should we wrestle?" he asks gently.

I stare at him for a moment, thinking. He's been so controlling and crude before, but now, he's almost stepping into the palm of my hand. Maybe it's a one time thing. Maybe Briana's sudden change of heart had some sort of impact on him. Maybe yesterday was all a façade.

Whatever it is, I'm sort of turned off – I mean, abrasive, mean, rude, that was all part of his charm, right?

We were just a little similar, I guess.

* * *

**Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three**

* * *

Amalie falters and falls back.

"I'm no good with a bow, Merch," she whines, nearly casting the weapon to the ground. "Can we please try something different?"

"I think it's good to get a rounded experience," I say gently, guiding her hand to the bowstring. "Come on, try it once more, please?"

"Yeah," Lolita says from a dummy over, already competent with archery. She's hit her target four times out of five, and nearly all of them were near the torso. "What if the Cornucopia only contains bows and arrows? It's better if you at least can shoot one."

Amalie sighs, notching another arrow half-heartedly and letting it tear through the air, plunking to the ground a couple feet from the dummy.

I turn away slightly, fiddling with my own bow as I try to think of a way I can persuade her. I like Amalie a lot. I _want_ her to succeed. But at the same time, I know that it's better if I don't let her – if I just let her fail at stuff like this, then she'll have less of a chance. I can win and bring home the gold, like I've always wanted to.

But I'm so jaded – what if, in the end, I'm injured, Lolita and Adriana are, well, dead, and Amalie could be the only one to save my sorry self?

I don't want anything like that to happen – I don't want Lolita or Adriana to die, nor Amalie, and I certainly don't want anything to happen to myself. But… it's just difficult. I don't know the future. I don't know what I should do, what's right to do and what's wrong.

Letting a small sigh slip from my lips, I set my own bow down gently and come up behind Amalie. My hands cover her own petite ones, and I help her to notch the arrow proficiently. Her breathing is ragged as I do so, something I want to take as a good sign.

I pull back her arm, clutching at her wrist, and let her hand go.

The arrow flies forward, catching the dummy in the left shoulder. Not a fatal shot, really, but enough to disable a person.

"That was so good," gushes Amalie, dropping the weapon and twirling around to give me a big hug. I can practically feel her joyfulness through the embrace, seeping through the layer of frustration. "Thanks, Merch!"

Lolita watches me with a funny little smirk, while Adriana merely giggles, hands drawn up to her mouth.

"No problem," I answer, pulling away from Amalie and gazing into her shining eyes. "Anything for an ally, right?"

"I hope you'd know I'd do the same for you…" she trails off, chuckling. "But I can barely use a machete as it is!"

Throwing an arm around her shoulder, feeling her small yet strong hand wrap around mine, I can't help but beam. "It's quite alright, Amalie. As long as this alliance is together, we can do _anything_!"

* * *

**Adriana Aquilare, District Four, Division One**

* * *

Anything.

I like the sound of that, really. I giggle again, watching as Merch and Amalie stride off rather awkwardly together, migrating to the next station. It leaves Lolita and me alone, me still clutching at my bow and Lolita notching her seventh arrow.

"They're so cute together," I sigh happily.

Lolita gazes over at me with her unwavering stare, the one that always makes me feel anxious, for some reason. "Don't get too attached, Four."

"You know my name…" I frown. "You can call me Adriana, you know."

She snorts slightly, shaking her head. Her thin black pigtails rustle. "I'd prefer not to."

And that's that – she doesn't give a reasoning, she simply turns and lets her arrow fly.

My frown grows deeper, and I inch slowly closer to Lolita, a knot turning itself over in my stomach. She's giving me the vibes that Marina would give me, back home. Except where Marina was bigger, prettier, smarter, faster, stronger, and better at everything than me, Lolita's rather small and looks meek and inconspicuous. But who knows? Underneath her humble shell might lie a monster.

But I'm going to try my best to prevent anything like that. I want us all to be happy.

"Do you want to follow them?"

"Sure," Lolita replies quickly, eyes glued to the tan dummy, pierced with numerous arrows. "You can follow them, if you like. Be their lapdog."

My shoulders slump slightly, and my confusion turns to sadness. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Okay, then can I ask something else? Besides that, I mean."

She shrugs, preparing to shoot another arrow. She bends over, eyes squinting at the mannequin.

"Why don't you like me?" The question itself sounds so naked and exposed, and I rush to cover it up with a little speech of sorts. "I mean, you practically adore Merchandise and Amalie, but whenever I'm around, you just act, well, not as nice. I just kinda want to know why?"

Lolita stops prepping to shoot immediately, and turns to me with some askew emotion in her eyes. I can't tell what she's thinking. "Why do you think I'm acting cold to you?"

I'm at a loss for words. "Um… you just aren't very friendly. Oh, and you call me 'Four'."

She narrows her eyes at me, small lips puckering into a frown. "I just want to warn you to watch your mouth, _Adriana_," she says, almost mocking me. "I know what I want, and I know when somebody is in my way. And I know when something _fishy_ is in the air."

With that, an air of finality hanging in the air, she throws her bow off to the side, landing on a little pile of arrows, and marches after Merchandise and Amalie, pigtails swaying in her wake.

I'm left dumbfounded.

Who _does_ something like that?

* * *

**Conner DeBlanc, District Two, Division One**

* * *

After my hilarious demonstration on Saturninus yesterday, I think it'll be safe to say that staying low is the right thing to do.

It's already been determined, pretty much, that I'm not getting into any alliances – and, to be perfectly honest, I'm content with that. I really couldn't imagine myself with anybody here. They either lack mental capacity, or simple common sense. I considered attempting to worm into Lynden's alliance, maybe use Saturninus as a meat shield, but it rapidly occurred to me that I'd have to deal with the trembling Leander and the dueling drama queens, Imani and Deverra.

Eira, Briana, and Spiridon were another option, but by the looks of things, their alliance is falling apart thanks to Spiridon trying to play the alpha male.

And the other alliances weren't of my liking; I had my eye on Imogen before, this morning, she showed up with the two kooks also known as Zane and Akio. From there, my opinion of her dropped completely.

So I'm going at it alone, the way I've lived all my life. I'm perfectly fine with this… I am.

It's not like it hasn't been this way before.

Sure, I've been lonely for the majority of my life – but it's only because any potential friend has been one that I've turned down. The only thing you can really, honestly trust, are facts. Facts in books and the sort.

I mean, I don't even trust my own family. Not really.

Living a solitary life is strange for some, I suppose, but I've grown accustomed. You have to be picky. You can't just settle for mediocre, no, you go all the way. For me, it's the cream of the crop. It's all or nothing.

You can't accept a half-hearted friend who doesn't appreciate a person for their personality itself.

And here, you aren't looking for a friend – you're looking for somebody who you could potentially use on your path to victory. It's sick, demented, twisted, but that's just how our society thinks.

I half-heartedly complete my knot in the rope and connect it to a small metal hook. If somebody steps into the loop, their foot will get snatched up like a grabby child trying to steal a piece of candy – except quite literally, like a rat in a trap.

Where's Saturninus when you need him, huh?

Smirking to myself, I ignore when the trainer asks me who I plan to practice this on. I'm too busy thinking about how perfectly I'll execute this in my private training session.

This is going to be when Conner DeBlanc makes a splash, when I reveal myself for the unnoticed genius that I really am.

I'm going to play this Game, just like I've played all the rest.

* * *

**Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two**

* * *

"Tributes!" A dark-skinned slender woman pops out through a door, nodding at us all briefly before speaking into the microphone once more. "Please follow me. We are now going into private training sessions, where you will get the chance to present yourself in front of the Gamemakers for a score. The higher the score, the better the presentation you've given yourself, but you know all of this, obviously. Please file after me."

I longingly place my katana down, trailing after Peridot as he takes the lead. We follow after the dark-skinned woman, through a door, then a hallway illuminated by numerous twinkling lights, and then into a room – simple in its manner, with grey benches along matching tables. The walls are white, no windows, and it smells like fresh paint and vanilla.

"Here we are…" the woman pauses, smiling to each of us in turn. The arm bearing the microphone drops to her hip. "When your name is called, please enter through the blue door, through the hallway, and present your skills. That is all."

As she leaves, Peridot and I choose a table near the said door and both sort of rest our chins in our hands, watching the other tributes as they select their own spots.

"Here it is, finally," Peridot whispers, his eyes sparkling with glee. "Training sessions. I've been looking forward to this the most."

I nod. "They're definitely a highlight of the Capitol," I say, sort of uncertainly. "To be honest, I'm more excited for the actual Games, though. There, it's do or die, and we can show off everything we've worked for."

"Our whole lives' work," he says with a small sense of awe. "Down to that one event."

"Kind of incredible," I mutter, dropping my head so that my blond hair cascades around me, masking my face from Peridot or anybody near.

I hate to admit it, but I get excited easily over things like this. What Peridot said has had a huge impact on me – I mean, I never honestly stopped to consider this.

My whole life, devoted to the Games and volunteering. It's down to this, just like he said. It was the norm when I began, for the little girls to abandon any thoughts of becoming a candy maker or a nurse, and to instead want to grow up to volunteer. We threw knives at dummies and laughed when the red liquid within spurted out, not really thinking about what it symbolized. We were young. We were dumb.

And maybe I'm still dumb. But at least I can recognize what it really means now.

"Are you okay, Sabryn?"

I look up to Peridot's concerned gaze, and I muster up enough strength to smile as the first name is called. Little Lolita.

She treads out, not once sparing a glance behind her, and inwardly, I wish that I could have half her confidence and vigor.

"I'm better than butter," I say.

Peridot looks utterly confused. "What?"

I shake my head, sighing. "I'm fine, Peridot. But thank you… for asking…"

And I do mean it. I'm grateful for him, like a big protective teddy bear. He's keeping me calm and controlled. I need him. I don't know what I'd do without his companionship.

I can only hope that I can learn how to be by myself.

* * *

**A/N: Fool's Gold by Colton Dixon.**

**Yeah, another chapter of training down, and a rapid update compared to what you're used to for this story! I'm already working on the next chapter of this – to say that I'm excited is an understatement, really. I'm ecstatic for this arena, these Games, these tributes… everything! **

**So, yeah, just another reminder to vote on the poll for your favorite tributes. It's appreciated, and the poll won't close for another few chapters, so though you have time, I like to see who your favorites are!**

**Oh, and dropping a review certainly doesn't go unnoticed c; I hate to feel like I'm begging but hey, going from a bunch to a little handful is very noticed ;c**

**Question time.**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Favorite mentor?**

**Least favorite mentor?**

**Any training score predictions?**


	9. You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

.

_**With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes.**_

* * *

**Rhett Valdez, District Nine, Division One**

* * *

"Careful, Ferric!"

My loud voice rings out as Ferric tumbles over his own feet, biting his lip hard. Staring at me as he reaches up, wiping at his mouth and smearing crimson blood across his sleeve, Ferric nods slowly. "Hey, thanks for that," he spits out bitterly.

"I just warned you," I say, shrugging. Glancing down slightly, I notice a little scrape on Ferric's neck – he doesn't seem to notice it yet, but it's bleeding, too, beading up in carmine droplets. There's a funny feeling in my stomach. "Hey, Ferric, hang on a second…"

"Huh?" he murmurs, eyes widening in confusion as I quickly drop my head, jut out my tongue, and lap up the blood forming on his neck. Wiping it off with my sleeve, nodding as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, it's not hard to notice Ferric standing with a stiff spine, mouth parted in horror.

"What's wrong?"

"Y-You…." He stammers out. "You _licked_ me."

I roll my eyes, moving to take a seat at a nearby table. "Calm down, Ferric," I groan out. Then I snort, half-laughing. "Yeah, I licked you, so you're mine. Funny, isn't it?"

"You _licked_ me," he repeats robotically.

I sigh tiredly, making sure to keep my voice low so that nobody is attracted. "Yes, I did," I say calmly, trying to keep the edge off of my voice. "There's no medical supplies in here, and how do you think the Gamemakers would react if all of a sudden this tiny twelve-year-old stumbles in, bleeding at the neck, and starts drunkenly swingin' around an axe?"

Ferric pauses, mouth set in a little line. Then he sighs. "I guess you're right," he mutters, sitting down across from me. Then he stares directly at me. "You didn't have to lick me, though."

A bout of laughter bubbles up from my throat, but I force it back down, managing to merely grin. "Calm down, bud," I giggle. "It's over."

Over for Ferric, maybe.

As he sighs again, placing his hand on the table and his head in his hand, I stare at him, observing how the scrape is surrounded by more emerging blood, how there's a bead of crimson that's quivering on the very tip of his bottom lip. He's still bleeding. But it would be weird to lick him again.

You can't _always_ get what you want.

Maybe I should just be glad that he didn't freak out more – I mean, who knows what he might have done? Let out a homophobic screech? Swatted me, gasping in utter terror? Standing and gawping was pretty tame, but I should really learn to be more careful.

Oh, well. At least the deed is done.

And who knows what could happen later? The future is _ever_ so uncertain.

* * *

**Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One**

* * *

Adriana stares at me.

Her gaze is unwavering and bold. I feel like I should speak up, ask Amalie if I can switch spots with her or something, but that would be openly rude. And though I'm assertive, I don't aim to be rude. That's not my goal.

My goal is to eliminate Adriana.

Sure, I've noticed that pretty much all the three in my alliance are a threat – Merchandise for his charisma, appearance, and general weaponry skills, Amalie for her bumbling desire for Merchandise, and Adriana – do I even need to say anything for her? Everything I'm getting from her radiates ominously. From the stare to the pout, I personally find her irritating, appalling, even.

I know that some might wonder why my target is the youngest, seemingly most harmless. I can answer that easily. From that display at the Reaping to how she just nonchalantly strolls up and asks for an alliance, everything about Adriana is a red light to me.

I just can't see how Merchandise and Amalie can't see it.

Sighing and looking away from Adriana's ice blue gaze, I try and strike up a conversation with Amalie, who's currently gazing at the oblivious Merchandise. "Got any plans for your personal training session?"

She looks at me with wide, piercing eyes. "Um, I'll probably show them some weapons," she says.

Then there's silence.

I hesitate before prodding her again. "Uh, yeah, what weapons are you talking about?"

"Oh," she says suddenly, as if she's been startled. "My machete, probably. And bows and arrows, since we trained with those today."

Nodding, smiling, I turn away silently. Amalie's nice enough, just not the brightest. Maybe Merch can cheer me up or something.

But just as soon as I turn towards the boy, Adriana rushes to talk to him first. "Merch!" she practically yells, drawing the unwanted attention of a couple others. She ignores them, instead, opting to clutch onto Merchandise's wrist and stare at me in mild desperation. She's trying too hard.

"Yes, Adriana?" He says pleasantly, detaching himself from her iron grip.

Adriana fumbles, thin eyebrows drawn together in anxiety. "Um…"

"_Lolita Trancy of District One, please enter the training center."_

"Bye, Lolita," Merch and Amalie chorus together, their smiles innocent and genuine. Adriana watches me fearfully, biting her lip as I stand up, preparing to walk out of the room. I can feel everybody's eyes on me, as the first person to go to the private training sessions.

I whisper out a goodbye of my own and stride out.

The training center is eerily quiet, most unlike what it was only minutes before. The racks containing weapons are like skeletons, and Avoxes and trainers stand at designated places, their faces stony and eyes watching, gazing, judging.

The Gamemakers themselves, clad in several shades and tints of every color, from black to pink, sit in a little glass room on a wall, elevated up numerous feet, and each of them holds a notepad, pencil, and a small goblet.

It's time to go and show them all what Lolita Trancy is made of.

A sphinxlike smile pops up on my chin, and I gently unhook a bow from a hook on a wall.

* * *

**Salton Matinee, District Four, Division One**

* * *

My two allies giggle together, Loren whispering secrets to Cheyenne's hair, and Cheyenne nodding, grinning wildly.

I'm out of the loop.

Again.

Sighing heavily, shoulders slumping slightly, I watch as the small girl from One exits the room, her shoulders thrown back and head held high. If only I had actually made an effort into a different alliance. Loren and Cheyenne, they're nice and all, just a bit gossipy when they're together. Well, Loren is. Cheyenne's only her puppet, meek and quiet until Loren starts cackling over some joke she made up.

Where do I fit in? There's no third role in the relationship between puppet and the master who pulls the strings.

Minutes tick by, then the other little guy from one, Ferric – the youngest kid here – is called. He traipses out gaily, waving to everybody, dried blood marking his neck. Wonder what happened there.

"Salton?"

I almost don't hear Loren's voice at first, I'm too busy wallowing in self-pity.

"Salton!"

This time I do. Jerking my head up to meet two pairs of chocolate brown eyes and lips quirked up into smiles, I tilt my head slightly. "You called?"

"Me and Cheyenne were just wondering what you intend to show the Gamemakers in your session." Loren smiles sweetly. "Cheyenne's going for a sickle. I'm trying out archery, maybe even throwing knives. We want to know what you are doing."

"Most likely, just swinging my saber around till it's over," I say, half-laughing. "I don't thrive well under pressure."

"Neither does Cheyenne, but she doesn't let that stop her!" Loren says cheerfully.

I glance at the said girl, whose frightened eyes are bigger than saucers. "I'm sure," I reply dryly, wanting to just end this conversation. "Going for the gold, really."

There is silence for a while – at first I'm worried, thinking that perhaps I've offended the two, but I rapidly assure myself that I'm just overthinking. I'm not always at fault. If Cheyenne took that to heart, it's her problem… not mine.

I sigh once more. Okay, maybe I was aiming at her feelings. Maybe it's my release, in a way, to get out my own feelings towards others, the more vulnerable and meek. Like Cheyenne. Like Loren. But I always regret it.

I'm not some sort of _monster_.

It's just… tricky for me. To show off my opinions without feeling remorse afterwards, like I am currently. How Loren almost tricked me into an alliance, but she didn't, because she didn't know how guilt-ridden I get.

It's a humbling thing, but not something I'm proud of, really. It's a setback.

* * *

**Lynden Avior, District Two, Division Three**

* * *

Imani flounces away, silky blackened hair poofing out in her wake. Deverra offers her a sneer, clutching onto Lynch's elbow, while Leander and me merely smile and wave. _Always_ smiling.

"I think it's anything but a secret that I am _not_ Imani's biggest fan," grumbles Deverra, shaking her head as the tall girl exits gracefully.

"What's your beef with her?" I ask gently, placing a hand on her skinny arm. She glances briefly down at my hand, then at me.

"It's tricky to describe," Deverra says, almost softly. It's nothing like the domineering tone I've heard earlier when Imani was around. It's nearly docile. "Kind of a personal thing. I bet you could pick it apart if you think, though, but I'd rather not spill the beans and make a bigger fool out of myself than I already have."

"That's no problem," Leander pipes up from my side. "I get it. But acting big and mighty all the time…" He falters, but an encouraging smile on my part makes him perk right back up. "That's not gonna help, either. Just saying…"

Lynch coughs out a laugh, placing his muscly arms around Deverra's and my shoulders, drawing us close to his burly chest. "Come on, now, friends," he says, grinning skittishly. "Let's not keep any barriers between us. We're all pals here."

Deverra bites her lip, frowns. "I don't want to play the role of the person that everybody hates," she says as an afterthought, completely ignoring Lynch, "but you know, it's what you have to do…"

"I have an idea," I speak up evenly, making all three heads turn my way. "A pact."

"A pact," Leander repeats unsteadily.

"A pact," I answer, smiling.

"What would it be about?" Deverra asks, leaning slightly into Lynch's shoulder.

"To stick together, no matter what. United as a team."

The words cut through the tension in our group like a dagger with a serrated edge. It hits Lynch first, but then again, he's all gun-and-run. Beaming like a fool, he immediately nods twice.

Leander's the second to agree, blinking sleepily and then smiling gently, giving me a slight hug. It's subtle, but noticed.

Deverra, however, is last. Biting her lip for the second time and twisting a lock of hair around her slender finger, she takes a while to consider it. "I don't wanna be rude, but to be honest, I don't think that that's the best idea." Just as I speak up to defend my idea, a flush of red coming onto my cheeks, she scrambles to conclude, "I mean, I'll do it. I just want you to think about what that really means."

"To stand together as a team?" Lynch chortles, tilting his head back and snorting. "It means we stand together and fall together, I'm so in!"

"Same here." Leander offers a moony smile.

The girl from Nine hesitates once more, before taking on a resolute nod and a stony expression. "I said I'm in. Are we telling Imani?"

"She's part of our alliance, isn't she?" I reply smoothly.

Lynch immediately starts babbling on about how excited he is about this newfound plan, and it's all I can do to not stand up and hug every individual member of my alliance. Everything is so pristine – it's all clicking into place. My plan. It's… it's perfect.

* * *

**Spiridon Floros, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

Briana's gone, probably off to be the bumbling mess that she usually is – bumbling, but admittedly attractive. Eira's not talking to me, her face drawn, almost set in stone. Though she took a seat next to me when we first came into the room, she's said not a word to me, rather, chatted it up with Briana till it was her time to go.

There's silence. And I despise silence.

"Not too many alliances left together," I say cheerfully, giving her a slight jab to the upper arm. Swaying to the side lightly, giving me a mean glare, Eira slides over a foot or two on the bench.

_Okay, that tactic didn't work. Time to be abrasive._

Locking my spine rigidly, glaring down my nose at the blond girl, I cross my arms. "What do _you_ intend to do in there, Eira?"

She glances at me with the nature of an uncaring cat, eyelids at half mast and lips pursed in curiosity. "Flaunting my stuff, maybe even flashing the Gamemakers. Offer them a good time, you know?"

Sarcasm. Eira's a tough nut to crack. But then again, when has that ever stopped me from getting what I want?

Smirking at her snark, inching ever closer, I drape my arm casually around her thin shoulders. "I'm talking about _really_." I raise my eyebrows. "What's your game, Eira? Tridents? Knives? Spears?"

"Yes," she says.

I don't need this, a person being tricky. I don't need to be treated like I'm some stupid child. A frown drifts across my face, and I take a couple deep breaths, a technique I learned from my father whenever he was angry. _It'll all be over soon._

"Which one did you mean?"

"Spears."

"That's very nice for your body structure," I answer, nodding. "I'm doing claymores. Well, technically… just one, but you catch my drift, don't you?"

Eira offers a dry, withering look and scoots to the end of the bench, resting her head in her arms as she does so.

That's fine, though. I've gotten her to talk, at the very least. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on her, either – while Briana's energetic and vivacious, Eira's more reserved, quiet. Maybe this is hitting her harder than I think – though, in my honest opinion, she seems more thick-skinned and strong, mentally, than Briana, who puts up a calm front.

Even though I can try to predict who's strong and who's not, one thing is for certain – our alliance isn't lasting much longer. Whether it's me who offs the two girls, or them to me, somebody must die. No point in waiting till the finale, or even after the bloodbath. If I want to save my sorry self, I need to rely on myself. With a plan.

I need to trust myself. I can't try and manipulate the others, not when they're so strong already.

* * *

**Imani Veneur, District One, Division Three**

* * *

"Score-revealing time, Imani!" Sheen pokes her head into my room briefly, grins dopily, and ducks back out.

"Be right there," I call to her retreating form, biting back a grin as I hear her clumsily run into a wall, emitting a harsh yelp.

Before I do leave for supper, though, I glance over to the long mirror hanging on the wall, smoothing down my strapless dress, running my fingertips through my hair, making sure that the simple makeup I've been done up in isn't smudged. Making myself presentable, able to be respected.

Unlike a certain Domika Franc and her fellow mentors.

Opening my door and gliding out to the hallway, I can already hear the quibbling between by district partners – right now it seems to stem from Ferric and Sabryn, at each other's throats just like they were last night. It's petty, it's childish, it's _stupid_. Sabryn should have more self-respect, honestly.

"You didn't stab all the dummies in your session! Do you think I'm an idiot?!" growls Sabryn as I walk in, her blond brow darkened into a glower.

"You don't _know_!" Ferric cries. "You weren't _there_!"

"I know well enough that I went right after you, and there were barely any targets that were touched!"

"Enough," Peridot starts to say, cutting in, but Sheen grabs his wrist, grinning and shaking her head at the chaos.

I flip my hair back, satisfyingly swishing against my bare shoulder. I don't need this, any of it.

"Guys!" Lolita shrieks, barreling into the room, her face contorted in slight anger. "Come on, already! My score has already been revealed – I got a _six_, not that anybody _cares_…"

"_Ferric Gauven with a four," _screams out the television.

"_Oh my God_," hollers Ferric, dropping his ceramic plate onto the counter, creating a satisfying crack, and dashes into the living room.

"Sabryn Sinclair with a nine!"

"All I needed to hear," Sabryn sighs before flouncing her way out.

"Peridot Midas with a ten!"

I don't have to look over at Peridot to know he's blushing and smiling. When he reaches over to clap on my shoulder, probably expecting a hug, that's when I move away, into the doorway of the living room. I don't care how kind he is or how well he did, I'm not complimenting somebody who's not my ally.

It seems I've come in just in time, too.

"Imani Veneur with a nine!"

Peridot doesn't offer to slap me on the shoulder this time.

I'm content with a nine, though. The second highest score so far. Shows that I'm a threat, to be taken seriously, but I can also be underestimated – if just a tad. Yeah, a nine's not bad. Not bad at all. I'm proud of myself.

"Nice work," Domika says quietly, squeezing my elbow. I turn around, spare her a smile. I'm not _all_ mean.

"Merchandise Leighton with an eight!"

And just like that, it's over, my moment of glory. I'm not getting any more.

But I'm alright with that.

My time hasn't come yet.

* * *

**Peridot Midas, District One, Division Two**

* * *

Pride.

I'm so proud of myself.

I can barely stand it.

A ten! I bite my lip, trying to conceal a massive grin. I don't want the others to feel bad, but, well… I'm the best! I'm the cream of the crop. A ten. A ten! While even Imani and Merchandise got less than me, the Gamemakers picked me – Peridot Midas, on the cusp of seventeen – to receive that glistening, glorious ten. _Me_!

So, so, so difficult to not let out a little shriek.

But it looks like my moment is over. Nobody's congratulating me anymore. Everybody's watching as the tributes from District Two appear on the screen – or their headshots at least.

Biting my tongue, I plop down next to Merchandise and stare at the screen as the scores are rattled off.

Loren Faust with a seven, Conner DeBlanc with a seven, and Briana Valleri matching both scores. Akio Kurama with a four, Lynden Avior with an eight, Saturninus Lynch with a… _ten_.

Another ten?

My ego deflates like a balloon that's just been pricked by a pin. Frowning miserably, I slowly ball my hands up into fists. Not for violence, no. Maybe to reassure myself that my pulse is still beating, blood's still pumping. Yes, I'm still alive. And yes, I'm still the best, even if this guy received an identical score.

I mean, what do scores prove, right?

Zilch, zero, nada.

District Four rolls onto the screen, showing off six identical fake grins and piercing stares. Their scores are ticked off, not really to my interest.

Adriana Aquilare gets an eight, Salton Matinee coins a seven. Eira Valliere earns a nine, Leander Pelion a seven, and both Amalie Traselle and Jaiden Castiel match that.

At least there weren't any tens here. My muscles relax and I can smile a little more. Maybe Lynch earning one was a one-time thing. Maybe we're the only people to earn tens. After all, District Nine doesn't look so promising, as the last and least important district's tributes pop onto the television screen.

Cheyenne Macrae earns herself a two, and I nearly laugh out loud. See, District Nine's not that important – not when their first tribute gets such a low score.

The rest that follow, though, prove me wrong.

Rhett Valdez gets a five, but the low scores end there. Imogen Khareen, a six. Zane Ackerman, the one with the goofy eyes, unsurprisingly gets a four, but the real shocker is with Deverra Lisett and Spiridon Floros. First Deverra's score, then Spiridon come onto the screen, and I feel numb inside.

They both get tens.

I guess I'm not so special after all.

Reality bites.

* * *

**Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

A ten. Not too shabby.

I shrug, humming to myself as I slowly get off of the couch. The room's rather quiet, Roland grinning out at everybody and Olivander in the kitchen, sucking noisily on what I hope is a chicken bone.

"We did pretty well, now, didn't we?" Spiridon says loftily, smirking as he trails after me into the hallway. "Proved all of the cocky Careers wrong. They needed to get off their high horses, anyways."

"Shows that we're not fully incompetent," I reply, shrugging. "And not one other district can boast of two tens. District Four didn't even get higher than a nine."

"My ally," Spiridon sighs, clutching at his heart with a false smile. "Mine. Not yours."

"Please," I snort, rolling my eyes. "Lynch got a ten, and Lynden and Imani did just as well." I purposefully don't mention Leander – he's clearly the weak link of our pack. "So if you, maybe, could get off your own high horse-"

"But I enjoy riding," Spiridon pouts, interrupting me. Cackling nastily at his own lewd joke, he's about to follow me into my bedroom when I slam the door directly in his ugly little face. "_Hey_!"

Biting my tongue, choosing not to reply to him, I stride over to the window seat and clamber onto it, feeling the velvety cushion underneath any exposed skin. A content sigh leaves my lips, and I lean back into the paneled wall, gazing down at the city below.

Lights dance under my gaze, and I make out the tiniest figures of people walking. Some hand in hand, some in large groups, and some… alone.

Alone.

An unexpected knot bubbles up in my throat, and I force it back down, even blinking back a tear. Now is not the time for weakness. I was soft enough today at training, agreeing with Lynden about her stupid pact thing. I don't need to let my guard down any more than it already is.

But the people that walk alone, down there, on the beautiful Capitol streets? That's exactly what _I_ was like. _I_ was alone back in Nine. I had nobody – no family, no friends, not even a stray animal to befriend. It was killing me.

Maybe that's why I told myself straight up that I was going to get an alliance. I had to. No way was I going to volunteer for this thing, then go at it alone. I needed somebody… anybody.

Even somebody as controlling and idiotic as Imani.

Lynch, Lynden, Leander, they're all nice, too nice. Probably have some trick up their sleeve. But whatever they throw at me, I'll be ready for. I've endured much worse than some simple betrayal. I know what it's like to feel resentment. Bitter hatred. Suicidal.

I know what it's like to feel hollow inside.

But I'm not going to let stupid memories get in the way of what I have yet to achieve.

* * *

**A/N: You're Gonna Go Far Kid by the Offspring.**

**Yeah ok I'm not gonna lie, getting a lot less reviews than we started with really puts me off ;/ Loss of motivation happens, you know. To be perfectly honest I think this is my least popular SYOT? Who knows if it'll be my last. Getting little feedback reaaaaaally doesn't make me want to write..?**

**But eh maybe it's just people losing interest in the story altogether ahahah -_- maybe just fewer questions is good eh. Anyways, for those who are still with me, interviews are up next, two chapters of those, then a launch chapter, and then we are into the arena.**

**Remember to vote on the poll! Every little vote counts and it only takes a moment!**

**Updating the blog with alliances and scores and maybe Capitol predictions tomorrow. Check it out!**

**Questionsssss**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Did any scores surprise you?**_


	10. Dead Man's Party

.

_**Waiting for an invitation to arrive, I'm going to a party where no one's still alive!**_

* * *

**Briana Valleri, District Two, Division Two**

* * *

"Wakey, wakey!"

My eyelids fly open with a start, but my muscles relax as soon as I realize it's just Slate, chipperly banging on my door. I hear his loud footsteps continue down the hall, his fist pounding on each new door in turn.

It's the day of the arena. And I couldn't be more ready.

I fall back against my pillow, a smile creeping its way onto my lips. Honestly, how can I not be a little excited? The one chance that I have to be able to save my one true love… Stanley.

I can only imagine the overjoyed look on his face when – if – I return.

He'd do the exact same thing for me… wouldn't he?

We were lovers. I loved him. They say that teenagers can't understand love, but when it comes to that phrase, I prefer to turn a blind ear. Stanley and me… we were something special. There were sparks, ignited into a full blaze. We finished each others' sentences, we never went somewhere without the other.

And then, he was arrested.

I never like to think of the supposed crime – it's too hideous a thing for somebody as beautiful and stunning as Stanley. It's almost too much just to think about how he was dragged away, a single salty tear streaking down his cheek, hands outstretched for me. Wasn't even his fault. Not really. Wasn't mine, either.

Stupid Peacekeepers and their lying, accusatory opinions.

We weren't doing anything. Not… not really.

I mean, it was just a party.

I shake my head, pulling myself out of bed and forcing a smile onto my face. I don't have to think like that anymore. There's only two ways to deal with this now – I can die, and leave Stanley to rot in that jail like nothing more than a criminal who did something terrible, or I can win. And I can get him out, and we can live out the rest of our lives in peace, just like I'd always intended.

And to think that I can achieve that, on my own good time, is stellar.

Just have to keep my motivation in mind, at all times. Who I'm fighting for. One thought of his beautiful face, and I should be set.

But then, all of a sudden, my pleasant thoughts are clouded over.

What if I don't have the capabilities to combat the others? Other tributes got much higher scores than me – even Conner got a 7, and the little blond girl from Four got an 8. Apparently I don't have the right skills to take on some of the others…

When I got here, I thought it was Conner that was the cockiest, but now, maybe it's myself. Maybe… _I'm_ the deluded.

* * *

**Ferric Gauven, District One, Division One**

* * *

"Get yourself up or I'll smack you!"

Groaning slightly, turning onto my side and watching Lincoln's little form storm down the hall as she stalks to Peridot's room next to mine, starts banging on his door. I hear his anguished hollers in no time.

A smile pops up on my face. This is all so pleasant, but maybe a little bittersweet. This is the last time I'll be around all these people. Maybe one of us will come back, but maybe not.

Either way, I should enjoy this while I can.

I yawn, stretching my arms above my head, before trotting out into the kitchen, grinning at Domika, who's currently the only mentor here.

"Would you like anything to eat, Ferric, maybe some eggs? There's also toast, waffles, or bagels." She gestures to the gargantuan fridge.

I shake my head politely, grabbing a chocolate muffin from the platter in front of us. "I'm a bit tense right now, so I think that I just might eat lightly," I reply graciously, taking a bite.

Domika shrugs, reaching for a pitcher of orange juice. "Your loss, then."

Breathing deeply to calm my racing nerves, flexing my fingers, I only sit back and watch as the others pour in – first Peridot and Sabryn, having a chatty bit of banter with some intermingled smiles, then Imani, already prepped to perfection and pursing her lips, then Lolita, in a frilly pink silk nightgown, looking more and more like a doll. Lastly comes Merchandise, looking frazzled.

The mentors file in slowly after them. While the majority are grinning as they sidle up to their designated tributes, Lincoln's puffy lips bear a heavy frown.

"Today's a big day for you-" She starts off.

Rolling my eyes, jumping right into things as I always do, I say, "But wasn't every day a big day, really? I mean, 'first day of training', then 'private session day', then 'interview night', and now… arena day."

Peridot joins the conversation, munching gleefully on a wedge of coffeecake. "Got a point there," he mumbles through the cake.

Lincoln rolls her eyes right back at me. "Honestly, you've got half an hour of breakfast before you get down to the training arena and onto the hovercrafts. Might as well listen up, Ferric, while you still have your ears secured onto your skull."

I casually put a hand up to my ear, slightly creeped out. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm serious!" Lincoln slurs, glaring and placing a hand on either shoulder. "You need to listen to me! You too, Peridot."

"Lincoln…" Peridot's smile falters. "I know we need to take all this seriously. But to be perfectly serious, there's not much that you can cram into a half hour, especially when we need to eat and do some basic prep."

"Yeah," I chorus, happy to back him up.

But really, what more can I do? In thirty short minutes, we'll be separating, forever. Peridot might be the very one to drag a knife across my throat – or, somehow, I'll be the one to push one into his ribcage.

It all depends. But for now, I can enjoy this moment, of friendship, graciousness, however bittersweet it may be.

* * *

**Imogen Khareen, District Nine, Division Two**

* * *

"Are we all ready?"

"Wait!" Cheyenne cries, then looks rather frightened at her outburst. As Olivander patiently keeps his hand on the _open door_ button, she darts out of the small elevator, then soon comes racing back with a small scrap of cloth clenched tightly in her small fist.

"What's that?" Deverra asks.

"My token," Cheyenne says shyly, presenting it to the older girl and I. I inspect the worn, frayed edges of it – blue and white gingham. Presumably from some old clothing. Cute, just like Cheyenne.

But I'm not gonna say that.

Looks like Deverra's not going to, either.

Instead, she keeps her face lax, shrugging and maintaining a cool expression.

I can do that, too.

I shove my hands inside my jacket's roomy pockets, sighing lightly as the elevator doors slide shut, sealing in the last glimpse I'll have of our living quarters. As the elevator ticks down, floor by floor, it only draws us closer to our arena experience.

The little box is silent. Cheyenne already has a tear slowly marking the pure skin of her cheek, while Deverra is stoic, as is Olivander.

They seem so… accepting.

In a way, I want to ask them how – how they can be so calm and assured of their fate. But in another way, I know that I'm the exact same. I know I should be feeling nervous of the things to come, with sweat pricking at my skin and heat rushing to my cheeks, but… I just feel numb.

Not that it's a surprise, though. I have lived my entire life like this.

Lonesome.

I've learned to observe people and what makes them tick, too. Maybe that's why I was so accepting of, say, Zane. When he begged me to be his ally. Though he might have thought that he was invisible back in Nine, I'd seen him around school. When it was time to go home, he'd try and catch up with the groups of boys, but always get pushed back. His cheeks would sting red, but he'd keep that same stupid smile on his face, bouncing back like a rubber band.

Perhaps I felt bad for the boy.

Perhaps I wanted a friend, too.

Either way, I'm stuck with him and the clumsy little freak named Akio, so, I guess that this describes my choice in companions.

It doesn't matter, though. Who cares what people think? If the Capitol doesn't approve, that doesn't matter – as long as they don't interfere, we'll be fine. Dysfunctional, maybe, but we'll operate well. We'll be better off than the shaky alliances of the alphas, or the littler kids, anyways.

We might not look like much, but when has a geode ever looked like a diamond?

* * *

**Jaiden Castiel, District Four, Division Three**

* * *

The arena's almost here.

I'd be lying if I said I had any shape of fear – I personally think my future is clear as a window. It'll be easy to win, to slaughter and slay, when you have no regrets, just living your day as an emotionless man.

Sure, I might have to impale a young child through the side with a spear – but that's all the fun that the Games provide, isn't it?

I can't help it, it's just what happens.

"Hurry up, Jaiden!" wails Lana from inside the elevator, maintaining an angry glare and a desperate frown at the same time. I glance over nonchalantly to the young lady, and she gives a stamp of her foot. "I'm not going to be late because of you!"

The only other person in the elevator is young Salton, and he gives me a curious look as I enter. "What took you so long?"

I scowl at Lana. "I was under the impression that perhaps a tribute would get a chance to get some edibles before the arena."

She thrusts a button on the side panel and her hands prop themselves up on her slim, willowy hips. "You can eat once you're in the launch room. There's a fridge in there, I would know. Just… don't eat too much, alright? But don't starve yourself."

I roll my eyes. "Not planning on it… I was just hoping for something to nibble-"

"Stop right there," sighs Lana, shaking her head. "It's alright, Jaiden. Just clam up and calm down."

Crossing my arms, making it fully clear how rude I find her, I sulk in the back of the elevator until it eventually makes its descent down at the training arena. I stride out with long steps, swinging my arms carefreely.

"Time to go, Salton," I call out loudly. "Time to go to the arena, boy."

He stumbles after me with wide eyes and a quivering lip. "You don't have to be so loud," he says quietly. "You're already attracting enough attention as it is."

I scoff, throwing my arms out wide to the attention of the public gaze. Honestly, what is Salton's big deal, anyway? I could go about like this all day.

"I'll see you soon enough, dear Lana," I call over my shoulder as I walk away from her and Salton. She scowls at me, tongue at the ready to say something rude, but before she can do a thing, I leave, making my move.

"Tributes! Please report to a single file line, three tributes from each district to a line!"

Around me, tributes skitter around, trying to get into a line with their allies, and I just sort of hang back and watch. I don't have an ally. I'm not rushing around, searching for somebody to sit with. I have no one.

I've been alone all my life, and I'll be alone through the new-coming strife.

* * *

**Amalie Traselle, District Four, Division Three**

* * *

I grip Merchandise's hand tightly as we board the ramp up to the hovercraft, light streaking into my vision and mildly blinding me. Screwing my eyelids shut, trying to not stumble along, I traipse after Merch until the light lessens.

Once there's no longer the pressure of the light pushing against my eyelids, I can finally open my eyes and look around. What I see isn't too impressive – the inside of the hovercraft consists of a line of chairs with seatbelts on either wall and a thin table in the middle, with two slim Avoxes in their trademark uniforms standing silently, watching us as we trickle in.

I take a seat next to Merchandise immediately, and on my other side, the young boy from Nine, creepy smile and all. I almost wish our alliance was all together – but Lolita and Adriana wound up in the other hovercraft.

Though, if I had to pick, of course I'd pick Merchandise to be the only other one in here with me.

But not even he can cover up the heartache and homesickness that I'm feeling right now. I miss my dad, with the fables that he'd tell me whenever I was ill, with his crooked glasses and the way he always kissed my cheek before bed. I miss Alessia, my best friend, with her bubbly giggles and clear blue eyes. I even miss my mom, with her dark brown curls and gossipy nature, how she'd always push me to be friends with the very girls that bullied me.

Of course, I don't miss _those_ girls.

I just have to come home and prove to them how wrong they were to shoot me down, time after time after time. I am not useless. They'll see, they'll all see that I have the guts in me to kill… to survive…

To win.

I finger the bracelet that's tightened around my wrist, rolling around each individual pearl and remembering the nostalgic time when Alessia gave it to me. It was for my birthday. I had been feeling especially sad that day – the bullies had gotten to my head. She presented it with a simple smile and a shrug that suggested it was nothing.

But it meant the world.

In a world where I was constantly gossiped about for being myself, she knew about my dream of volunteering to pave a new path for myself. Though she hated the idea of a life without me, she accepted it.

Alessia was such a good friend. Too good a friend. I don't deserve her.

But maybe… just maybe… I deserve Merchandise?

I cuddle up to his side nonchalantly, as he buckles in his seat belt. He smiles, giggling just a little when he realizes what I'm doing, and casually throws his arm over my shoulders. I lean into him, the smile never leaving my face.

He doesn't have to know what I was running from. All that matters right now is us. I don't have to worry about anything else until… later.

* * *

**Leander Pelion, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

"Mr. Pelion? Your tracker."

I hold out my arm, hissing slightly as the needle slides itself underneath my skin. A blue light glows for a moment, and then it disappears.

Imani's next to get hers, and after her is Deverra. I don't know where Lynden nor Lynch went – so much for getting to have any sort of friend on the hovercraft. No matter how kind Deverra might seem right now, I'm still wary of the girl; her eyes in particular, so wide and pale, always watching me, scare me.

"Are you guys excited for the arena?" I ask, trying to break the silent tension between us all. My voice sounds very small.

Deverra gives me a small smile and begins to say something, but Imani cuts in. "Of course," she scoffs, a sarcastic smile crawling onto her puffy lips. "Why would I be here, if not?"

"Well," I say a little nervously, not wanting to upset her but wanting to give her some snark right back, "you could have lost a bet and had to volunteer…"

"Risking my life for a bet." Imani's smile drops. "Wouldn't that be lovely."

"I'm sure people have done it before," Deverra snarls at her with her trademark scowl. "People with high stakes and a dangerous situation."

"People like who?"

"How could I know? For all I know, you could just be covering up your own tracks."

It only just now occurs to me that Deverra is protecting me. Why, I don't know, but I'm sure she'd appreciate if I _didn't_ acknowledge it. Something tells me that she's big on pride.

"Deverra?" I pipe up.

She looks at me with something angry in her eyes. "Hush up for a minute, Leander," she growls. "The big girls are talking."

Maybe she wasn't trying to defend me after all.

I sigh, leaning back in my seat and listening to the two of them bicker over the topic that I sparked. It's not even important; I'm pretty sure that they just like to argue with each other. Maybe that's how they get their kicks.

But I don't want to be around when their feuding turns into something deadly, with clashing blades, released howls, and spilt blood.

Sighing, closing my eyes and listening to the faint sound of the hovercraft whirring as we zoom through the air, I wonder to myself if it would possibly matter to anybody at all if I did stay when that happened… if somebody would care about what would happen to me.

My boyfriend would, most definitely. My parents and friends, too. But would Lynden, or Lynch? Or would they leave me behind for their own survival?

Would I abandon an ally just to save my own self?

Could I really have the guts to stoop that low?

* * *

**Loren Faust, District Two, Division One**

* * *

Once the doors of the hovercraft open, I bolt. My legs are so tired from being cooped up for a while, even if it was only for ten or twenty minutes. Plus, I'll admit – I'm excited, probably too excited to be here.

We're in a giant room similar to the training arena, but without all the stations for weapons and survival skills. The lights are mainly dark, though a few lights are switched on. Once I burst onto the ground, I nearly have a heart attack when I see the army of silhouettes in front of me, but my eyes rapidly adjust to the light, revealing that they're simply the stylists of everybody.

"Loren, Loren, Loren! You look fabulous today!"

I grin at my stylist, a tall, slender woman of mid-thirties named Annice, who quickly pulls me in for a hug. "I haven't even brushed my hair today, Annice!"

"That doesn't matter." She winks. "It's my job to bring out your natural beauty, isn't it? Come on, Loren."

"Can we leave now?" I glance behind me.

"I received instructions to take you directly to your preparatory room, where you'll have fifteen minutes to prep, then the arena awaits you." Annice flicks her silky pastel purple hair over her shoulder. "Follow me, now. Take care not to trip over your own feet!"

I trail after Annice through a doorway, and then through winding pathways. I don't know how many corners we turn. The walk alone seems to take forever. I'm shocked when, once we get to a final hallway, Annice reveals that besides walking, we were on a moving pathway – we must have been moving ten times faster than we walked, at least.

"I didn't feel the motion."

"The Capitol only wants you to feel comfortable here." She snickers. "Well, right up until the arena, that is."

"Yep, there's definitely that…" I snigger slightly along with her, trying to avoid the ominous presence of the Games that lingers over us. "Where's my prep room?"

Annice strides to a door with my name on a plaque in swirling letters, the bottom of the 'L' curling underneath everything, and opens it.

It's not as nice as the living quarters back in the hotel we were in, but it's definitely lavish and luxurious. Multiple cushions layer themselves on a couch like sprinkles on a cupcake. Bright lights beam down in varying shades of buttery yellow, crayon pink, and lavenders. It smells strongly of floral fragrances.

"Kind of surreal…" I sigh, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa. "In only a few moments, I'll be in the arena."

"It's going to be alright." Annice comes over, sits next to me, and throws an arm over my shoulder to comfort me. "You're prepared for this, aren't you?"

A cry bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it down and nod, letting her think that everything's okay. "I'm just getting cold feet. Probably. I'll be fine in a little bit. Maybe I just need a drink of water or something."

Annice gets up to grab me a cup of water from a faucet and I sigh, drawing my knees up to my chest. I don't want to let her know that I'm terrified…

I need to put on a brave face.

* * *

**Akio Kurama, District Two, Division Two**

* * *

Everybody loves to root for a nuisance.

I grin at my stylist, Antony, as he pulls a thin black bag out of the closet. He thinks I'm annoying. Just like most of the people that I've met in my lifetime. But that doesn't matter – after all… Hestia gave me a great piece of advice, one that actually gives me hope and makes sense, unlike all the false tidbits that I've been given over the years.

Everybody loves to root for a nuisance.

It makes sense, it makes sense! I bounce lightly on my heels as Antony withdraws a thin shirt from the bag and holds it up, comparing it to my lanky frame, murmuring to himself through the pins in his mouth. I'm about to say something to him, to try and make him laugh, but then he thrusts the shirt out at me.

"Put this on," he says in his silly high voice.

I shrug, stripping myself free from the binding blue pajama top I wore down here and sliding it on. It's unlike any arena outfit I've seen before… the color is pale, streaked with splashy, vibrant colors.

"And the shorts."

Khaki shorts, coming to about my knees – just a little baggy, but with a tighter fabric on the inside.

What are the clothing designers getting at?

"What about shoes?" I say after slipping the shorts on, wiggling around just a little in them.

"You have sandals." Antony forks over some slim brown practical-looking sandals with big buckles and straps.

"Sandals…" I frown, sliding those shoes on as well. They were obviously built for comfort, not style. They look flexible, like you could run or climb in them, judging by the rubber grippers on the bottom, but… what about the rest of the outfit? It's so impractical, the opposite of these shoes.

"Yes, sandals," snaps Antony, retreating to the loveseat in the corner and flipping open a pretentious-looking magazine. When he notices me staring at him, he lowers his circular sunglasses and sighs. "Boy, get in the tube. You'll-"

"The name," I interrupt him, "is Akio, Akio Kurama."

"Yeah, like I'll remember _that_ in a month," he snorts. "Now get in the tube, _Akio_. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," I joke, hopping into the glass tube. The door slides shut behind me, and all of a sudden, I'm trapped.

Not that I mind. Quite the contrary. I lick my hand and smear back an unruly tendril of dark hair, casually lean against the side of the tube, waggling my eyebrows playfully at Antony, who glares at me.

Then the tube moves up.

And up.

And up.

My stomach twists as I see the arena, feel the slight breeze tickling my feet. I make eye contact with Zane, his big blue eyes even wider than usual.

The sound of collapsing water in the background is the last thing I hear before the lilting voice.

* * *

"_Welcome, tributes, and let the annual one-hundredth Hunger Games commence!"_

* * *

**A/N: Dead Man's Party by Oingo Boingo.**

**Yeah, late update. Really late. And I skipped interviews. Why, you ask? Well, for one, I got to a point where everything that I wrote down was just… totally not up to my standards. Just really rotten writing, really. But I started on this chapter, and, well… it was a lot easier than interviews. A lot less repetitive.**

**So, well, here you have it.**

**I'm not gonna apologize for any deaths, because, well…? Every death happens for a reason, and you knew when you sent in your tribute, your tribute was basically going to die. There's a really slim chance. I'm not mincing words here, obviously, but I do have pity upon the tributes and their submitters. But I'm not sorry, or regretful or anything. Just a little melancholy.**

**Questions? :)**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Who do you want to see fall in the bloodbath?**

**Who do you think will fall in the bloodbath?**


	11. Psycho

.

* * *

_**You're about to journey into the mind of a psychopath killer; a blood  
**__**spiller, a mentality much iller than you could ever imagine in your  
**__**wildest dreams, through his pain, and silent screams.**_

* * *

**Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One**

* * *

It's a resort.

I whip my head around multiple times, barely feeling the faint sting of my ponytails as they slap against my cheeks. I'm numb. I'm filled to the brim with acidic adrenaline, burning inside my veins and making me clench my fists in both anxiety and excitement.

The air reeks of flowery perfumes and clean, fresh air. Maybe there are a few hints of fruity scents - can they even be called that? - of lime and coconut, and there' salsa a salty undertone to it all, like a sort of oceanic scent. Personally, I wouldn't know. Maybe Amalie or Adriana...

Adriana.

All of a sudden, some fire starts up in me. I grit my teeth, glaring across the circle of tributes at her, innocently clad in the suit and a high, curly pigtail. She's biting her lip, hands twisted together in anxiety.

She notices me staring at her and immediately shudders, nearly toppling off her plate. She catches herself early on, though, and instead opts to give me a sharp look.

Like that will deter me.

I flip my silky black hair so it falls against the small of my back, inhaling a deep breath. My time will come, just not now.

Not now.

I stare out past the image of the trembling girl who's struggling to remain strong, gazing out at the towering images of the palm trees, their palms extending out like spokes. Fat green coconuts nestle just under them, ready to drop and spew forth milk and soft meat.

Good thing that I studied District Four in school, huh?

But aside from the lush greenery, there isn't that much else relating to Four. There's a tall building behind it all, stretching to the sky even higher than the trees. Balconies overlook the Cornucopia - it must be a hotel.

We're in a sort of boulevard, surrounded by the walls of the hotel. The Cornucopia itself is small, dotted with sweet-smelling flowers. As I turn to glance behind me, I see iron wrought fences, with green lawns, pools of small and large sizes, a river with floating orange tubes and unnaturally clear clue water, and propped-up lawn chairs.

Ironic. It's a place of idle play, when we are here to do anything but.

The holographic clock above the Cornucopia gives a soft beep, and my stare snaps to that. 10 seconds. 9 seconds. 8 seconds. We're almost here.

Something funny sets in my chest, and I locate a small bow and quiver just to the side of the Cornucopia, propped perfectly up. If I can't find my tanto - and mind you, that's not such a surprise, since it's quite an exotic weapon - that's what I favor.

I hope it knows how much pressure is riding on it.

_5\. _

_4\. _

_3\. _

_2\. _

The Reaped girl on the plate next to me lets out a shrill cry, her knees buckling under the strain. My heart lurches for her. Only a year younger than me, but looking ages littler.

_1\. _

I launch myself forward, legs running, running, running, running to the bow. My hand latches around it, then the quiver, and I sigh with instant relief. I'm protected now.

But not for long.

The gawky boy from Nine, about sixteen or so, has a machete that glimmers in the cheerful sunset. His mouth drops open as he sees me, like a fish struggling for water. He doesn't look so prepared as he swings the machete forth, nearly slicing open my hip.

I leap back, hissing through my teeth. My arm stretches back for the quiver on my back, and I draw forth a slim, strong arrow, notching it in the string of the bow. I think it's time that I show this kid what a training score of 6 is made of.

But before I can do anything, my elbow drawn back, the arrow quivering in preparation, another boy leaps in front. He's got rippling muscles, a sculpted jawline, and blond hair… it's Peridot.

His eyes look almost apologetic as he raises the flail. "I'll be quick," he says quietly, weapon at the ready.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little afraid of him, with his sixth Capitol prediction and that staggering ten. But underneath this hard exterior, who is he but the boy who laughed whenever Ferric made a lewd joke and the boy whose ego was so harmed whenever another person matched his training score?

"Not today," I whisper, turning the arrow on him just as he raises his arm to bring the flail down.

It buries itself in his upper chest, and he falls with a cry, the aftermath of it quivering on his thin lips.

* * *

**Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

As soon as the gong rings, I don't waste time - I push myself off the plate, immediately tripping on the unfamiliar shoes. Snarling at the setback, watching in mild agony as the other tributes surge past me, leaving only the sound of clattering shoes and panting, I quickly wipe the dirt off my bare arms and stagger upwards.

It's a mess. Tributes who have trained their entire lives are already duking it out. I latch my gaze on Spiridon, who's dueling Merchandise. Spiridon quickly lands a punch on Merchandise's jaw, who recoils in pain.

I can't watch that now. I need to focus in my own well-being...

"Eira!" The scream comes from my side.

Briana and Amalie are dueling, with Amalie obviously grabbing the upper hand. I've noticed how much she swoons over Merchandise, it's true. But apparently, the girl can get down to business when she means it.

Briana pants, stumbling backwards as Amalie kicks her shin repeatedly, forcing her to the ground. Amalie hasn't a weapon, but by the looks of it, neither does my ally. They're on the same level. But Briana is obviously wounded.

I whip my gaze from the fight of Briana and Amalie to the one of Spiridon and Merchandise, biting my lip gently as I try to decide which ally to help...

But then I remember. This isn't a simple fight back in Four where you could just rush to the aid of a friend by grabbing the advisor. This is the Hunger Games. There are no advisors, and there are no friends.

You can trust nobody.

Swallowing my pride and humanity, I rush past the two fights into the midst of the chaos, rip a spear from the frozen hands of little Ferric, swoop to snatch up a black backpack from the ground, and I run out of the pandemonium.

But he won't give up so easily - Ferric, that is.

He chases after me, his eyebrows drawn down in anger. "Give that back!" he yells.

"Never," I growl.

His eyes are wide, wild. "I-I'll kill you!"

He'll kill me. What a nice, _innocent_ thought.

He's deluded. And I don't want to do this. But in the end, it's what I have to do - I can't go home without murdering somebody, some way or another.

I bring the spear down on his shoulder, then, realizing it wasn't fatal, aim for his neck. I make it quick, and he perishes with watering, accusatory eyes. I stay for a moment, watching him topple to the ground. His eyelids flutter close with the delicacy of butterfly wings; his shoulders slump in eternal relaxation.

Poor boy. But he challenged me. And sorry to say for him, but I know when to put people in their place.

Now I can leave.

"Eira!" Briana's strangled howl comes again, this time much more pained. "Help me!"

Her voice sounds like a sob, her words slurred. I bite my lip a second time, clenching my fists and glancing over.

Briana's nose is bleeding, and her eye is swelling up, tinged with red and purple. She chokes out my name again, tears making her cheeks wet. "Please, help me!" she weeps as the tired Amalie, with a scratch across her cheek, delivers a punch to my ally's temple.

What do I do?

Sighing out, I run towards her and Amalie, quickly whacking Amalie across the face with the butt of my spear, and bring Briana to her feet as Amalie falls back, choking. "Hurry," I whisper to Briana. She only nods, tears blurring her vision.

Now for Spiridon, I suppose.

But as I charge towards him and Merchandise, it's hard to miss the boy from One dipping to snatch an axe from the ground and bring it across Spiridon's face, immediately breaking through his skull for the kill.

Briana cusses from my side, and I feel like I should say something, too.

But... I can't. I don't. I wasn't attached to him, so I feel no pain.

It's how this should all end, really.

Painless. Simple. Quick.

* * *

**Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Division Three**

* * *

"_Lynch_!"

Lynden's pained cry comes from behind me. I can barely see a glimpse of her, a bloody streak already marking her face, before a tribute runs in front of me to grab something.

It's getting insane. I can't find my alliance, and instead, I keep running into random tributes whose names I don't even remember.

I let out a roar as a little tribute crosses my path, swiping her out of the way, and instantly feel remorse as they show their face. Cheyenne Macrae, the Reaped tribute. Her black hair, in two sweet little braids, are already wet with blood, and the gash across her cheek tells me what happened.

She doesn't deserve this.

I pick her up, though I am not sure why. I can feel her heartbeat in the pulse in her neck, beating rapidly, too fast. Like a frightened bird. Her skeleton feels so small in my arms.

It's easy to pick out her ally, the other meek little girl with the long lashes and a small knife to her name. Little Loren, my district partner. I set the Reaped girl - Cheyenne - down next to her, staring at the bleeding cut on her jaw.

"Be _careful_," I say with a wink, before running back into the chaos.

I don't even have to look back to know that they're shocked, but that's not what I'm focusing on. I need to find Leander or Lynden. I feel like Imani and Deverra can carry themselves, but who knows about the other two? Lynden puts up a brave front, but inside, I bet she's just a little baby. And Leander was never the most strong to start with.

A familiar pale face crosses my vision and I grab her elbow.

"Imani," I holler out, taking in the reddened hand print across her cheek. She must have been fighting with somebody. "Are you-"

Before I know it, there's a boy running right into us. He's small, and I don't remember him in particular. He let's out a grunt, trying to squeeze past us. He doesn't want to harm us, he just wants to get out of here.

Imani shoves a dagger up inside his ribcage before he can do anything, a robotic, emotionless expression gracing her face.

The boy falls to the ground with a sigh, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"Who was that?" I ask, trying not to gawp.

She stares down at the body. "...Salton Matinee. From Four."

A breath escapes my mouth and I gaze down at the handle of the dagger, jutting out of his belly. "What a nice way to go, huh?" I force a laugh, for Imani's sake.

"Really _wicked_." Imani offers a sarcastic smile before continuing, "Lynch, I'm going to go round and try and find our allies. Deverra and Lynden, mainly. I have a feeling that Leander will follow us like a lost puppy."

"True," I stammer out, trying to compose myself. "Uh, anyways... Shall we go?"

"Meet me by the doors to the hotel once you've gotten some loot or an ally," she orders, flipping her dark hair over a shoulder and stalking off to try and find somebody else.

Just like that, she's gone, disappeared into the chaos.

Not that I mind. I need to find a more trustworthy person to accompany me.

Like Lynden. Or Leander. Or even Deverra.

Out of them all, Imani's the one that I trust the least. Why? Is it because of her snarky way of going about, or maybe the way her eyes flicker around so judgmentally. On any rate, I have to think fast, not ponder about the citizens of my alliance. I need to find something - a weapon, or somebody.

But just as I start heading back in the direction where Lynden was, where the agony in her voice was projected out to me, something makes my heart stop.

I stare as Sabryn Sinclair tackles Leander, his body so small and so vulnerable without a weapon to protect himself, and quite rapidly stabs his skull with her katana.

Leander just died in front of my very eyes.

Sabryn scatters quite quickly, not once glancing up to meet my gaze - maybe she doesn't even notice that I'm gawping down at her - and makes a brisk exit, hauling a satchel over her shoulder, tugging along her blond ally.

I sink to my knees, pulling Leander's broken body into my lap. I don't care if I'm vulnerable to an attack. I don't care if Imani sees me and calls me out for slacking. I don't care if I'm putting my own self in danger, risking it all for the corpse of a boy I knew for just a few days.

Leander's dead, and I watched it happen.

My hand gently strokes his cheek, and the contrast of pale skin against dark is striking. I bow my head down low, a knot arising in my throat, and a tear drips down the bridge of my nose, splattering onto the spot just above his eyebrow. I cover up the bloody wound with my hand, not caring if I get my hand or jumpsuit bloody.

Even though he was quiet, moony, dreamy, even maybe a little disoriented in his life, I won't - can't - let his death go unnoticed.

I've lost an ally. And it was the most gentle of us all.

The innocent always fall the hardest in the end, don't they?

* * *

**Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

I watch from a distance as Lynch cries over Leander's small body, with a sense of bittersweet sadness. Leander was just that - sweet. But he wasn't made for the Games. He was too dreamy, too docile. Too nice.

Nice people don't turn out as victors.

Victors are the ones who grit their teeth and stick it out when something happens, like an ally's death. Victors are the ones not afraid to get their hands lathered up in blood if the time comes to it. Victors are the toughest of the tough. And that's my goal.

Tightening my grip on the sickle, wiping some moistness from the corner of my eye, I shy away from Jaiden, who keeps trying to creep up on me. I've evaded him a few times before, but he won't go away.

"Is this how you get a girl back in Four, then?" I say loudly, glaring at him.

He looks surprised that he's been called out, but emerges from the cover of a crate tower. "I was never interested in the girls back in Four," he replies simply.

"Look, I don't care if you're gay." I roll my eyes, ready to say something else, but he interrupts me.

"I was just never really interested in the _humans_ as partners..."

"_Sick_," I gag, raising my weapon. "Look, I was over with this conversation before it even started, so can we just fight and get this over with?"

"I'm not interested in battling you," he says.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I've come to request something."

He thinks he's so fancy, talking all formally, using words like 'request' and 'partners'. Well, if he wants to be fancy, then fancy he'll get. "Tell me. I've not got all day."

"An alliance."

An alliance?

But I'm with Lynch, Lynden, and Imani. They're here right now - Imani's engaged in a fistfight with Imogen, who seems to be slipping away from her, while Zane watches with scared eyes on the outskirts. Lynch is still hovering over Leander's corpse. And Lynden's currently sifting through a backpack, a knife at the ready.

"I'm not going to ally with you," I scoff, laughing easily. I surge forward, slashing out at him with the sickle, the blade yet unmarked with any sort of blood.

"And why not?" He dodges it with ease.

I swing the sickle again, baring my teeth. "I've got an alliance, and I most certainly don't want to ally with you!"

"And why not?" Jaiden repeats.

"You're creepy!" I spit out.

"That's all I needed to hear, Nine," he growls, his eyes flashing dangerously. Before I know what's happening, he's grabbed the sickle out of my frozen hands, turned on his heel, and ran directly into the hotel, the giant doors slowly closing behind him.

What was that...

Lynden comes over to me, giving me a small, sweet smile. "Are you alright? Did you want any backup? I thought you could handle it, but you can let me know for the future, alright?"

"I'm fine," I say bitterly. "I just need a new sickle, apparently."

She goes to search for a sickle, diving headfirst into the pile of supplies, when she gives a startled yelp. Barreling out of the mess of satchels and backpacks comes the curly-haired boy from Two, a smirk clear on his youthful face.

Conner DeBlanc?

"Get him!" I shriek, leaping to tackle him.

It's easy - he might be small, but he's not so fast. I land on him with a loud thud, our heads colliding. He lets out a groan, and it stifle mine, wrapping an arm around his thin neck, hearing a popping sound as I tighten my grip. Conner squirms underneath me, but it's no use.

Lynden backs me up, grabbing the knife at her feet and lunging after me. It's she who impales him through the side, dangerously close to my hip, claiming the kill as her own.

Conflicting emotions run across her face as he slides out of her grip. Sadness. Melancholy. Pride.

She should be proud, though.

I get up, dust off my knees. "Congrats, Lynden. You actually did it... you literally, actually did it."

"Thanks…"

Not long after this, six cannons shake the arena.

It's over, then.

* * *

**Adriana Aquilare, District Four, Division One**

* * *

It's hard not to grip Merchandise's hand with as much power as I can. The mere fact that I can see Lolita breathing down my neck with her accusatory, beady little gaze, is enough to make my own breathing hitched and ragged.

Amalie's on Merchandise's other side, giving me the hairy eyeball as she stares jealously at the grip I have on him. But I'm not worried about her - I doubt that she'd want to get on his bad side, after all. She likes him too much to risk that.

But Lolita would have no qualms about it, I'm sure.

I shudder as six cannons are quick to blast my eardrums. Six markings of six people that surrounded me these past few days, deceased. Gone. Lost. Maybe I knew some of them. Maybe I didn't know a single one of them, they were just slightly familiar faces that I recognized throughout my journey - perhaps the brown-haired girl who trained by me at the spears, or the boy who wore the green shirt at interviews. Who knows?

Only the faces in the sky will tell.

If I live to see that long.

I shake my head. I can't afford to think negatively. My mind has to be clear, my vibes have to be vibrant and positive.

I need to live out of here.

"This is so pretty," Amalie breathes after a while of silence. Three pairs of eyes snap to see her, and she smiles. "Well, admit it. The flowers, the pretty pathways, the view of the pools, even the hotel. It's all beautiful."

"It's a resort," Merchandise answers, bopping her gently on the tip of her nose, which causes her to giggle and blush. "It's supposed to make us gawk in awe of its perfection."

His sarcasm is funny. I appreciate that. I chuckle alongside Amalie, but Lolita's vigilant stare is there, like it always is.

Just to show her that outwardly I'm not affected by her jabs, I break away from Merchandise's grip - probably to Amalie's delight - and run my hand along a nearby tree dotted with little pink flowers, dappled with sunlight. "You've got that right," I remark, admiring the delicate petals. "I'll bet-"

A loud holler cuts me off, and I'm jerked backwards, some large force tackling me to the ground and smashing my body against the uneven stone walkway. My head hits the pathway with a loud crack, and my ribcage curls inside itself with the force that's on top of me.

Amalie is the first voice that I can make out, throughout all the other loud gasps and yells. "Jaiden!" she screeches, and I hear footsteps.

My eyelids flutter shut, the pain quickly catching up. It's difficult to pinpoint an exact location where the agony burns brightest, but I'm aware of the fact that whoever is on top of me - most likely Jaiden, judging by Amalie's shock and the sudden sweaty, fishy smell - is stronger, heavier, and they've got a weapon. Something sharp is pressed against my shoulder.

More words are exchanged. I tilt my head back slightly, gasping for oxygen. It's so, so hard to make out anything of what's going on around me. I can barely make out the voices of my own allies.

Suddenly, I'm whisked off the ground. I try to force my eyelids to open, but it's no use. I'm so weak I can't even manage that little motion.

Whoever is carrying me is fast - my arms flop unattractively against my savior's skin, their strong arms holding me like I'm nothing more than a rag doll. That's what I feel like, at least.

I don't know how long the journey takes. Seconds, moments, minutes tick by, and my limbs and head keep jerking with every sporadic movement that my carrier makes.

And then... Relief.

I'm set down gently. My body rests on concrete, not uneven pathway. I'm mostly certain that this is Merchandise that's carrying me, now. He must have run with me in his arms to get me away from Jaiden. How nice. I just didn't know that his muscles were as bulky as Jaiden's...

My head is dipped into something cold. Water. I'm grateful for the gesture, but this water is not like the inviting, slightly salty stuff back home. This reeks of chlorine and chemicals. It doesn't burn against my wounds as much as the brackish water would. This water is strange.

And the person dipping my head into the water doesn't stop. My eyes go into the water, and my eyelids slip open. This water is so clear, so blue. It makes this experience even more odder and bizarre.

My nose and mouth are next to follow. I can't breathe. Whoever is doing this is drowning me. Why are they doing this? I can't breathe!

I find the strength to struggle, but a hand folds across my throat, fingers jamming themselves in the hollow of my jaw. Chlorine water fills my nose, and as I try to splutter for air, it floods into my mouth, too.

A scream tries to materialize from my throat, but it merely bubbles up with the water, acidic against the soft skin of my trachea. I hear a cackle. Jaiden's laugh.

Footsteps dart against the pavement, and my slitted eyelids can barely make out the image of Merchandise, his eyes wide and frightened. Before I know it, Jaiden's whipped his head around, but he's too late. A glint of silver emerges from his chest, and he falls forward, his heavy body shoved against mine.

How am I still alive? I can't breathe. I want to die.

Hands reach out, picking me up, stubbornly and anxiously. My eyelids are at half mast. I can do nothing but stare out, well aware of what's about to happen.

It takes them – Merchandise and Amalie – minutes to figure out that I'm dying. Dead already, it seems. Amalie chokes up in a sob, while Lolita, her face blank and emotionless, steps forward solemnly.

She raises a knife. Amalie buries her face in Merchandise's shoulder.

And I'm put out of my misery with a quick slash.

* * *

**A/N: American Psycho by D12.**

* * *

_**24th – Peridot Midas, District One. Killed by Lolita Trancy, District One.**_

_**23rd – Ferric Gauvin, District One. Killed by Eira Valliere, District Four.**_

_**22nd – Spiridon Floros, District Nine. Killed by Merchandise Leighton, District One.**_

_**21st – Salton Matinee, District Four. Killed by Imani Veneur, District One.**_

_**20th – Leander Pelion, District Four. Killed by Sabryn Sinclair, District One.**_

_**19th – Conner DeBlanc, District Two. Killed by Lynden Avior, District Two.**_

_**18th – Jaiden Castiel, District Four. Killed by Merchandise Leighton, District One.**_

_**17th – Adriana Aquilare, District Four. Killed by Lolita Trancy, District One.**_

* * *

**Aaaaaaand let the regrets begin.**

**Sam, I admired Peridot for what he was and what he stood for – himself. He had a very strong personality, one that I personally connected to, and was a bit comical with how extreme it was. Sadly, in the big picture, I had no plots to link him to.**

**Ollie, Ferric was quite similar to Peridot. I enjoyed writing him more than a lot of the tributes, actually, with his little digs at himself and the slight insecurity that he faced, yet managed to keep a grin on his little lips. I'll miss this kid, though! ;_;**

**Mitch, I legitimately feel bad, you hand me these amazing tributes and they all wind up being bloodbaths… first Kiera and now Spiridon. He was tricky to write, though, I'll admit. Domineering tributes always are. But he clicked for me, no matter what others thought!**

**Axe, Salton wasn't a bold personality, rather the opposite. He had his quirky charms and funny ways of going about, with doubts and anxiety on his side, but that's partly what drew me to him. In the end, though, I didn't have a place for him to go.**

**Bo, the tables have turned! ;D Leander was a cutie, I'll admit, and I'll also admit that I struggled to write for him, you might have seen that. His personality was very complex… and I am nothing more than a simple girl trying to write for a little munchkin grunch like him.**

**RainEpelt, I really loved writing for Conner. All the controversy that he caused made me giggle each time I read over it. Arrogant, intelligent, snooty, snobby, he was truly a comical character to bring to life! Unfortunately, the loners never do make it very far…**

**Min, like with Leander, it was difficult for me to write for Jaiden. I don't know, I just didn't grasp his personality and aura too well. That being said, I did enjoy the idea of him, though – a slightly unstable poet who just wanted to indulge himself. Very fun!**

**Dino, Adriana was a really amazing character. Stellar. One of your best, really. She was unique and complex in her own way, and she just felt natural to write about. From the interactions with Lolita to Mysti, I adored writing her. Thank you so much! **

**Thus ends the bloodbath!**

**If your tribute wasn't mentioned here, please, do not fret! Just think that they made out with a little weapon and a nice satchel or something, eh? I wrote this before the launch chapter, actually. The milky eh.**

**Well… yeah. The arena's a hotel resort. They were launched in a hotel courtyard overlooking a pool. Nice little image for the imagination there, huh? They volunteered to get into action, and instead, they were thrown into a place completely idle. **

**Oh, how I love to be **_**contrary**_**… ;O**

**Questions?**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Thoughts on each death?**_

_**Which one would you have saved from death?**_


	12. Carmen

.

"_**You don't want to be like me, don't want to see all the things I've seen… I'm dying."**_

* * *

**Imogen Khareen, District Nine, Division Two**

* * *

"Where is Akio?"

Zane's pale head pops into my line of vision, his light blue eyes filled with worry as they scan the area. "I don't know," he mutters, lips quivering in anxiety, staring out at the glassy pool-front that we're upon. "I… I mean, I saw him at the front of the bloodbath… he was in a fistfight with Cheyenne."

"Cheyenne…" I sigh. "Who won, did you see?"

"No," he frets, "But I did notice that they were pretty evenly matched… Kinda funny, really, that the person who matched his fighting skills was one of the youngest here… and she hadn't trained at all…"

"It's not funny, it's pathetic," I snap. I'm quickly snapped back to a reasonable ego size when I realize that it's my fault I'm allied with those two loons in the first place. I sigh, folding a hand over Zane's. His is warm. Mine is colder than ice. "We'll find him. It will be okay. I mean, how much damage can a thirteen-year old _tween_ do?"

"More than you can think…" Zane's frown melts into a small smile. "You're right, though. We can do it!"

Positive thinking is appreciated. Mainly because I was never one for thinking that the world was a kind place – I'm used to rough-and-tumble. I guess I expected this place to be the spitting image of my life back in Nine, just a little rougher. So far – aside from the obvious bloodbath, of course – it's actually been sort of… peaceful.

We just need to find Akio, and then our alliance is restored to the smooth sailing it was at in the Capitol.

"Did you see what direction he went in?" I ask Zane, slinging our pack onto my shoulder and standing on a woven pool chair in the line of several, staring out over the glossy, shimmering turquoise pool waters.

"I dunno," Zane shrugs. "I don't pay attention to that sort of stuff."

"Funny, I thought you'd be a member of all those Capitol culturati who write down every little detail," I deadpan, trying not to smirk for fear of giving myself away. "But nah, now I can see how gauche you are."

"Rude," he snarls playfully, though there's an inkling of hurt in his eyes. He seems to shake it off, though, and tramps on ahead independently. "Come on, Imogen! He's gotta be around here some-"

"_Hi, _friends!"

"_Akio!" _

My heart flies out of my chest and my tongue emits a loud screech of his name as he pops in front of us from behind a towel dispenser, wearing one of the big fluffy rags on his head like a floppy hat.

"Sorry I didn't show myself earlier…" He twists his lips into a mock-apologetic frown. "But, ya know, I was too busy trying to make an outfit out of towels."

"That's so annoying," I growl, still trying to slow my thundering heart.

Zane doesn't seem to be that flustered, however. Fluttering around Akio like a flashy butterfly, grinning with relief over the finding of our ally after such a panicking time, he seems purely happy. Not upset or anything like that, completely unaware of our surroundings.

"Come on, guys," I speak up, forcing any emotion from my voice to turn to dust. "Let's keep moving. It's nearly sundown, we need to look for some sort of shelter."

"You're so _proactive_, Imogen," Akio chirps, shaking his head free of the flapping towel hat and tromping after me, a large knife in his hand. "I wish I could be just like you."

I scoff quickly. "You don't want to be anything like me… trust me…"

_You don't want to be the way I am. You don't want to have gone through what I have._

"But why not?" he asks, his voice so sweet and full of innocence. "You're practical, tough, and you don't let anything get you down. You're the strongest person here!"

"Agreed!" Zane nods quickly, grinning.

I stare at the two of them, a funny pang arising from the pits of my stomach. I want to think that they're telling the truth… that I'm somebody who can be admired and viewed as somebody important, a role model, even. But there's some barrier that keeps me from seeing this as anything but a big fat lie. They _must_ be lying. I'm a terrible person, nobody should ever strive to be just like me…

"Come on," I say very quietly, choosing to ignore their false praises. "Let's just go."

Though they might think that I don't see them, out of the corner of my eye, I notice the two of them exchange a very sad-looking expression.

* * *

**Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two**

* * *

Peridot's gone.

I sniffle, wiping yet another tear from my eye, raising my head from my gaze of the courtyard. I try to stand up, but I'm unsteady. I place a hand on the balcony railing, sitting myself back down on the convenient little chair. If there were people here, I'd be embarrassed. Maybe if I'd made another ally or something.

But no. I only had Peridot… and he's _dead_…

To be completely honest, at first, I didn't even see him dead. When I didn't see him running around at first, I made the assumption – stupidly, I might add – that he was behind the Cornucopia or something, trying to pick off a tribute or two. It never once crossed my mind that instead of being the hunter, he was playing the role of the hunted.

And then, after I had offed my first victim, I noticed him – just lying there, not far from Leander's corpse. I thought he was merely knocked out. I grabbed his bony hand and ran for it, dragging him along as well as I could. I was well aware of the tall dark-skinned guy from Two watching me, but he was too frozen to do anything. My mind was set on just getting the hell out of there.

But once I was on the edge of the courtyard, under the awning of the hotel, I realized… He was lying down for a reason…

There had been an arrow imbedded firmly in his chest.

Once I noticed that, it was all over. I felt disgusted with myself for holding hands with a corpse. My heart jerked. I ran for the hotel, running up numerous flights of stairs, and eventually entering the first door I saw – a hotel room, complete with a bed and kitchenette – until I got to where I am. The balcony overlooking the courtyard.

I'm terrified right now.

My hands quiver, rattling against the railing of the balcony. I'm basically a sitting duck for anybody who wants me. All they'd have to do is figure out the hotel room of the balcony of which I'm sitting on, and I'd be an easy target. My katana's scattered on the hotel floor somewhere, my backpack flung to the side of the room. I'm in shock.

I can't get over this… Peridot… so strong and so competent… _dead_…

I take a shaky breath, pushing myself to rise. Tears swim in the hollows of my eyes, but I force them out with a couple powerful blinks. I'm supposed to be strong. Sabryn Sinclair. The girl so feared in the Capitol, with that ferocious score of a nine.

But Peridot had a ten.

How did I manage to outlast him?

A creaky cry erupts from my throat, and I stuff the top of my t-shirt into my mouth to muffle any sounds I might make. Salty tears slip down my smooth cheeks, and I sink onto my heels.

I'm losing it.

I've trained myself to do the exact opposite… to fight for myself, and myself only. To be independent. To not get attached, and to be strong, like the perfect soldier.

Am I really losing it all over the death of a guy I knew for barely half of a week?

_It's just what humans do, Sabryn_, a voice in my head nags gently. _You mourn the death of those close to you. You're not a robot. You liked him, even if you tried to deny it. You got attached. And now you're paying the price. You knew this would happen, Sabryn. Come on!_

I cough, shaking my head abruptly. "Get _out_ of my head," I whimper to the voice as it continues on. _Even if it were the other way around, you wouldn't want that, would you? You'd prefer Peridot to live on instead of you, huh?_

Breath after shaky breath helps me to maintain some sort of control. I compose myself, wiping the tears one final time and tying my hair up into a knotted braid. I even force a smile onto my lips, gazing down with a melancholy look onto the courtyard that only an hour ago was a fierce battlefield.

_Just look at the other casualties. You'll feel better._

The grass of the courtyard is stained in several places with blood. There's still a majority of lush green, glimmering in the sinking sunlight, but quite obviously, this bloodbath lived up to its name. It was bloody.

Saturninus Lynch, Deverra Lisett, Lynden Avior, and Imani roam the courtyard. They seem to be the alphas. All old, all warriors. Imani and Saturninus seem to be the only ones without injuries. Deverra and Lynden both have blood staining their creamy skin.

Bodies litter the ground. From the ones I can pick out, I see a little boy, his curly hair marking him as Conner DeBlanc. Salton Matinee lies not far away, his lips outstretched like a fish's gaping mouth. I can also pick out Spiridon Floros and Ferric Gauven.

_See?_ I tell myself. _Their allies must be upset, too_.

Maybe this new voice in my head is right. I do feel better, no matter how morbid or weird it is. Looking down at the dead bodies of those who weren't so lucky has given me a new outlook, too.

You have to be fast, use your wits, or soon, you'll just be another one who bit the dust. A face vaguely remembered, marked by a training score and district number.

I don't plan on being one of those people any time soon.

* * *

**Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three**

* * *

"It'll be okay, Amalie…"

She can't stop sobbing. Her shoulders shake as she stares down at Adriana's tiny body, the arrow still impaling her chest. Lolita stands stonily a good yard away, her eyebrows drawn heavily and mouth set grimly as she gazes at our fallen friend.

That's what Adriana was. Not an ally, no. She was a friend.

It doesn't even matter that we only knew her for a couple days. We bonded – her, Amalie, Lolita and me. We were like a family, Amalie and I as the parents and Adriana and Lolita as the adorable daughters who had their own little feuds.

Well, that was my fantasy, at least. And now it's gone.

I guess it doesn't pay to have dreams of air and dust.

Especially not in a place like this.

"It's not going to be okay," Amalie gasps for air, another tear streaking down her cheek. "We've lost an ally so early on!"

"I'm sorry," Lolita says apologetically, but her face never moves from its blank expression. "I… I did what had to be done."

"We know," I soothe her, placing a hand on her bony, cold wrist. "You just didn't want her to suffer. You're more brave than Amalie or me, actually… I don't know if we'd have been strong enough to do the deed."

Lolita nods once and stares down with cold eyes at Jaiden's wounded body. "Should we move out, then?"

"Good idea," I say, standing up. I smile at my small ally. "You're so admirable, Lolita. First you make sure Adriana's at peace, and then you suggest that we move somewhere out of respect… I wish we were all a little bit more like you."

"Thank you," she says calmly, her eyes straying to the bodies littering the ground. Her frown deepens as she looks over Adriana's, but she quickly turns away. "Come on, I'll lead. If you could grab the supplies…?"

I slide the backpack onto a shoulder and slip my hand into Amalie's, helping her to her feet. She groans a little in protest, but otherwise doesn't put up a big fight. She seems sort of disoriented.

Lolita leads us down a pathway, through multiple gates, winding around numerous pools and terraces. She seems to pick the directions at random; yet, somehow, gives off an air of knowing exactly where she's going. She's like a man on a mission, but she is only fourteen, and I'm reminded of that every time I glance into her innocent, big brown eyes.

She's too young for this. She's too pure and harmless.

I sometimes wonder why Lolita volunteered – but then I remember that everybody's got a reason, a story. I sure wouldn't want to share mine. I doubt little Lolita would, either.

I'm okay with not knowing, though. Sometimes it's better to be oblivious.

"Where are we going?" I ask, just to make my voice heard in the tense silence.

"Somewhere _fun_," Lolita calls back over her shoulder.

I giggle slightly. "Fun? Hasn't this whole thing just been more fun than a barrel of monkeys?"

"Too soon, Merch," Amalie hisses, her voice tight. "Too soon."

"Sorry," I whisper back, tucking my tail between my legs in shame. I should mourn over Adriana more, or at least show some reverence or respect. Why do I always goof around when the situation calls for veneration?

Walking in utter silence seems to take forever, and the backpack grows heavier on my back with each new step that I take. At some point, my head slumps down and I stare only at the ground while I'm walking, Amalie still clutching my hand. We mount multiple stairs, the railings placed next to fragrant-scented flowers, when Lolita's voice halts me.

"This a good spot, Merchandise?"

The small girl stops abruptly, jabbing her thumb at a neatly organized terrace. There's tables and chairs set up as if it were for a big event. Adobe creates a railing that we can look over to see yet another of the million swimming pools.

Amalie sighs, pulling herself onto a table and looking around with disinterest. I try to be a little more enthusiastic, however, marching around, prodding menial things like a potted tree or an abandoned water glass, nodding my approval.

"The only problem is how we'll protect ourselves."

"Defense is really easy." Lolita shrugs off her quiver and places that and her bow on a table, skittering over to the open staircase, sliding a table across the stone ground. "Just pull enough of these across the opening. Any intruders would be easy to detect, with all the noise they make. I doubt anybody would really want to confront us, either – if we put up enough of an intimidating front."

"You're right." I smile, pulling her fragile body into a bone-crushing hug. She squeaks delicately at first, but I can feel her arms wrapping around me, too. "You're staying so, so strong, Lolita. Words can't describe how proud of you I am."

She gazes up at me, but lurking underneath her usually sunny eyes is something unreadable. Her lips are drawn into a natural frown.

"Thanks, Merchandise," she says softly. "You're really special…"

* * *

**Cheyenne Macrae, District Nine, Division One**

* * *

Loren can't stop smiling.

And I don't blame her. She has a right to smile. She can grin all she wants. She's trained for this. She knows what to do in case a bulky eighteen-year-old sneaks up on her with a knife.

But it's getting disturbing, the amount of smiling she's doing. Especially when I'm trying my hardest just not to break down wailing and pounding the ground.

"Are you… are you okay?" I ask her in a hopefully gentle tone. It sounds more timid, though; I'm terrified I'll offend her.

"Never better," she replies with a little giggle, curling a tendril of chestnut hair around her finger. "Honestly, I didn't expect the bloodbath to go that well for us… a knife and a backpack each!"

_Doubt I could even use this,_ I think as I hold up the knife, frowning. The blade glimmers in the last dying rays of sun. "You're better at the knife than me, obviously…"

"Awh, Cheyenne." Loren frowns. "Never. You can be good with it, too – you just need a little bit of practice! Want me to teach you?"

I shake my head, trying to maintain an unwavering smile as I reject her. "N-No… I'll be fine. I just… um… knives aren't my thing. I'm more of a friend than foe…"

"You got that right," she sings out, another peal of laughter racking her body and making her shoulders shake. Loren notices me giving her a strange gaze and she shakes her head, making her ponytail quiver. "I'm sorry if this is weird for you, but I'm a nervous laugher, and this… this all is so incredible!"

"It is," I say simply.

Loren can laugh all she wants. I doubt I'll be able to smile for one second in this setting.

I'm nervous, too – we didn't exactly find a good hiding spot. We found each other at the Cornucopia immediately – and mind you, I was still stricken with fear after I fought Akio, though no damage was dealt on either side – and, Loren shoving a satchel and knife into my frozen hands, we fled.

It didn't take her long to decide that she wanted to go into the hotel lobby, either. Nobody else was in there… funny. We actually had made a good decision. Going to the less popular place meant that it would be safer.

I wanted a good hiding place if we were to stay in the lobby. Somewhere where nobody would ever think to look.

Loren suggested we hide under the reception desk.

Of course, I wasn't one to shoot down the ideas of a friend – I smiled dumbly and nodded my assent. It soon became rather crowded and hot down there, however, and so we quickly had decided to just walk throughout the corridors of the first floor, peeking into rooms and the sort.

Monotonous.

But better than the other option – to run into somebody, and be forced to fight. Much better.

Loren lets loose yet another giggle, cutting through the silence easily. Like a knife through a stick of melting butter.

"What are you laughing at?" I say softly.

"There's a _boy_ behind us," she snickers, tilting her head to gesture to a tall potted plant.

Fear settles in my stomach as I whip around, the beaming face of Rhett quickly popping into my vision. My knees grow weak, and I sink slowly to the ground, lips quivering in a silent moan.

"Cheyenne, Cheyenne, Cheyenne!" Rhett dances his way in front of me, chuckling like a five foot maniac. "Well, well, look who I found!"

"Rhett…" my voice is unenthusiastic; to be honest, it's probably downright terrified. But really, I am scared – Rhett is frightening. To me, he's a vipered snake with glittery brown eyes.

"Your district partner, right?" Loren asks, her face a little concerned at my current condition on the ground. She frowns. "Didn't he have an ally, though?"

Rhett's face falls, and Loren's quick to notice, her frown deepening as she realizes it might be a touchy subject. "Oh… did something happen?"

"A bloodbath," Rhett says hollowly, his eyes averted to the ground. "I saw him… I couldn't get him out fast enough, though…"

_Oh_. My heartstrings twang at the misery in his voice.

"Oh, Rhett!" Loren throws her arms around his scrawny back and squeezes him tight. Her back is to me, and Rhett's head rests on her shoulder; I slowly get onto my feet to maybe join the hug, anything to avoid awkwardly sitting on the ground in my hunched position, when the strangest thing happens – his dejected expression is quickly turned upside down. A majestic smirk lights up his face, and he even has the nerve to _wink_ at me.

I topple right back on my backside again, letting go a pained squeak.

Loren pulls away from the hug, and just like that, Rhett's sorrowful face is back. She doesn't notice a thing. "Cheyenne," she says. "Do you mind if we ally with Rhett? He's just like us, one little guy against the harsh arena and everybody else, and he's all _alone_!"

Rhett bats his eyelashes falsely at me, but the split second Loren glances back at him, he inhales shakily, like he's on the verge of tears.

How _manipulative_!

"Cheyenne won't mind at all," Rhett says as perkily as he can without letting Loren on. He even snuffles to keep up the act. "R-Right, Cheyenne? You'd never turn down a friend… you're just too sweet and nice for that."

I don't even have to reply. Loren squawks with glee and throws her arms around Rhett once more, any thoughts of our own fallen ally out the window. "Awesome!" she chirps. "We can be like one big family!"

One big family.

Right.

I can be the baby, suckling on her bottle with a pigtail on either side of her head, eyes filled with innocence and sweetness. Loren can be the motherly yet naïve mom, a peppy grin constantly plastered across her chin, hands ready to help. And Rhett? He can be the weasel of an older brother, always smirking smarmily, with nasty thoughts stored up in his brain, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of vulnerability.

I need to tell Loren the truth about Rhett. But will I ever have the guts to do it?

* * *

**A/N: Carmen by Lana del Rey.**

_**No deaths.**_

**The chapter after the bloodbath is always slow, just kids getting adjusted to their surroundings and such. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter – soccer season is officially over, which equals more time for me to write! Woo!**

**Questions.**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Who will be the next to go?**_


	13. Cameras

.

* * *

_**I see that we're made of more than blood and bones, we're made of sticks and stones.**_

* * *

**Imani Veneur, District One, Division Three**

* * *

The anthem booms, startling us all.

Well, most of us. Deverra and I were on the ground already. She has her back to me. Funny, almost, how she's so _quick_ to trust me when in training she was constantly at my throat. Or maybe she's just assured by Lynden, hovering around nearby, and Lynch, also sprawled out on the ground.

She thinks that I won't try anything when they're around.

Joke's on her, really – for now, I won't do anything. It would be suicide to make a move when our other allies are _right_ there. I'd easily be overpowered by the three – I'm not even very sure that I could take Lynch, if my weapon was knocked to the ground. All he'd have to do is sit on me, really. He seems pretty heavy.

_Eh_. I shake my head slightly, listening to the continuation of the music, feeling the silky tips of my dark hair brush against my bare arms, dusting lightly over my pink and purple splattered shirt. I should be fine, for now at least. Deverra seems kind of submissive at the moment.

"Look at the sky!" Lynden gasps, breaking my concentration. I glance over to her in mild annoyance, but her eyes are star-struck. Her fleshy lips curve up in a gleeful smile, and she lifts an arm. "It's… it's that one little kid!"

Indeed. Ferric Gauven's face lights up the sky, his bushy eyebrows lifted like he's about to make a snarky comment. I watch as his face soon melts into the angled one of Peridot Midas, also from District One.

Down the line, the faces of the dead tributes grow. Conner DeBlanc, one of my district partners, is beamed up. His regular mischievous, arrogant grin is showcased in particular. After him comes the blond little girl from Four, Adriana Aquilare. Her face dissolves into a thoughtful-looking boy, Salton Matinee. And then… Leander.

My head whips to my allies to scout out what they're feeling.

Deverra's pretty unaffected. Her lips twist in pity, and she even has the decency to shake her head for his lost soul, but that's all. Lynch and Lynden seem to be connected in a sort of bond over his death – Lynden's eyes water and Lynch throws a muscled arm around her, hugging her close to his side.

Cute, one might say, that they're linked by this tragic event. But it's not right. As Leander's face dissolves into Jaiden Castiel's, and then the last one of the night, Spiridon Floros, my mind sets off once again.

Maybe I need to do something to separate the two. A bond is dangerous, especially so early on. They could team up, maybe even seduce Deverra to join them. I need to stop whatever this is, as quickly as possible.

Like I mentioned earlier, there's no way I could take Lynch on my own – it's common sense. I'd be a fool to think that me, willowy and slim, could be a match for his bulging muscles and brute force. I basically have one advantage, and that's intelligence. But that's why I was at the top of my training program – manipulation.

It's a lovely thing.

I try not to wrinkle my nose as Lynden curls up into Lynch's side, shedding tears all over his blue and white shirt. They're almost oblivious. They don't recognize how powerful their mini alliance is.

I'm losing control here. I _cannot_ afford to lose control.

Maybe I need to delve into the nitty-gritty early on. Maybe I can afford to trek off on my own… if it's all in my own interest.

_Maybe_ I need to loosen up and let fate win over. But there's no way I can allow that to happen. I need to take matters into my own hands… and to do something.

I stand up noisily, gaining attention from each of the three. "Can somebody come with me to scout out a restroom?" I ask, hoping to the highest heavens that Lynden's got a small bladder.

"I need to go!" Lynch volunteers, glancing down at Lynden. "Can you-"

"Uh, I need to go, though, as well," she says, blinking tearfully.

"Well, I don't wanna be here all alone," Deverra snaps. "What if our base gets attacked?"

"I have an idea!" I announce, volunteering myself and inwardly beaming at how well this was going. "I'll look around with Lynden, and then we can come back and one of us can escort Lynch. Sound like a plan?"

"Alright," Lynch says, gently helping Lynden up. "But hurry back. I gotta take a-"

"Stop that," Deverra growls.

He smirks.

It's easy to see, walking inside the hotel and the brightly lit lobby, that Lynden's totally out of it. Thoughts of the late Leander must be killing her. If _only_ it were so quick.

"Here's some restrooms," Lynden says, wiping her eye of a tear and pushing open the door. She glances back. "Coming?"

"Yeah." I follow her in, and she takes a stall. I remain hovering around the sinks, toying with my hair and staring at myself in the mirror, sort of just waiting around until she's done.

Lynden catches on quickly, though. "Aren't you going to go?" she asks in a low tone as she emerges, stepping up to a sink and beginning to pump some soap on her hands.

I don't say a word. And, in her vulnerable state, her reflexes aren't nearly fast enough as I whip the knife from my pocket and impale her through the shoulder blades.

A gasp emerges.

"Imani," she wheezes, her eyes watery and accusatory as she slides to the ground, slumping over slowly. "How… how could you?"

I can only watch her as she slowly curls up into herself, her head bending between her legs. It almost seems surreal when her cannon sounds, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the bathroom.

I slowly tap the faucet, running my hands free of any blood and dabbing a little water on my cheeks, in the hollow of my nose, the corners of my eyes. Time to play something up, make up a show.

To convince them that I didn't just slaughter my own ally in cold blood.

* * *

**Rhett Valdez, District Nine, Division One**

* * *

"Go to sleep, Cheyenne."

Loren's sleepy voice is slurred. It's the middle of the night, and the fourth time that Cheyenne has woken up, a pained cry in her throat.

"Please do," I say to the little girl, who's gasping, holding her chest. "I told you that I'd take first watch. You can relax." I glance over to Loren. She's facedown, yawning with her eyes closed, so I risk a devilish smile at Cheyenne. "Honestly, do you think I'd hurt you?"

She chooses to stay silent, but her mouth is wide and quivering. After a moment of staring at me and my smirk, she crawls over to Loren and tries to go back to sleep.

I smile to myself, watching their limp forms as their chests slowly rise and fall, the power of sleep overtaking them. I always thought that sleep would be a pleasant way to go – no suffering, no pain. Just relaxation, tranquility.

Not that I'm suggesting they die in their sleep.

Not now, at least.

For now, some allies would be nice – appreciated. I honestly didn't think Ferric would die so early on. I took him for somebody stronger. A survivor. Or maybe I just was attracted by his charisma, humor, and appearance.

It's really an unfortunate event. You see somebody, get to know them, get attached, and just like that, in the blink of an eye, they're gone. Like a teenager getting addicted to morphling, it happens all the time. It's commonplace.

But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

I hug my sides and stare out into the inky black night as the hours tick by, waiting for morning. It must be at least four in the morning by now… Cheyenne had first watch, but her shift was cut short when she started bawling. Then Loren took over for a few hours, and as the man of the alliance, I volunteered to take over the rest of the night, which was well over five hours of staying awake.

It would be nice if they trusted me, you know. Might be nice to have an alliance to fall back upon.

To be fair, I was lucky that I stumbled upon these two girls. I have a feeling that Deverra's or Zane's alliances wouldn't be so eager to take me in.

A blessing in disguise that Ferric got speared, really.

"R-Rhett?"

Cheyenne's broken voice interrupts my thoughts. _Awake again_. I groan internally and turn to her with a dark scowl. "What do you want?"

"I… I just wanted to make sure you were still awake." She offers me a smile that seems awfully posed. "Keeping watch and all that…"

"Yeah, yeah." I roll my eyes. "What's the real reason? You've been breathing down my neck ever since Loren invited me in this alliance."

Cheyenne peers over at her friend's somnolent form, still as a resting rock. "She didn't invite you," she says quietly. "You sort of dropped yourself in… you took over."

"Me?" I bat my eyelashes, trying to contain a hysterical chuckle. "Take over an alliance? Why, I'd never dream of it!"

"And I saw you, you know," Cheyenne spits with as much venom as a puppy trying to pin its own tail to the ground. "When you were hugging her, pretending to be all sad over Ferric, while you were _smiling_ at me behind her back. You weren't sad at all, you were just pretending. I saw you!"

"And so what?" I hiss, with real venom that seems to seep into her sense of confidence. She deflates faster than a party balloon in a needle factory. "So what if I'm just trying to gain her trust? It's the arena, Cheyenne, it's what we do. We can't afford to be softies. Sometimes you gotta be a little prickly."

"But not like that," she squeaks out. "Not to Loren."

"Yes, to Loren." I glare. "To Loren, to you, to anybody else I come upon. You have to be tough."

Her eyes are wide and frightened, like I'm the cat with the cream and she's a simple mouse. "Rhett…"

"Cheyenne," I mock her with a high-pitched voice. I shake my head. "If you think I'm here to stir up controversy, think that. I won't even deny it. I know that you won't say anything to Loren."

"You don't know that," she whispers.

"Oh yes," I say, chuckling. "I do."

Cheyenne won't say a word. She's too meek, too gullible, too innocent. She would never risk stirring the pot even more than it already is. Loren's a sitting duck, and Cheyenne is the one who could pull the rifle from my hands. But she doesn't want to get shot, either.

* * *

**Akio Kurama, District Two, Division Two**

* * *

The anthem blasts.

"Is it just me…" Imogen frowns. "Or did this day go by much faster than usual?"

"Right," Zane agrees, suspiciously looking up into the blackened sky. The first and only face that projects into the sky is Lynden Avior's, my district partner. Can't say I'm too upset – she was a big competitor, to be honest. "It only felt like a few hours, really. Maybe six at the most."

"Well, it's not like it hasn't been like this before," sighs Imogen. "Gamemakers like to mess with the times in the arena. Last year, remember? The days were much longer than usual. It mucked up everybody's head."

"Or," I sing out loudly. "Maybe it has been a day, but you two have been so caught up in talking and, quote quote quote, _strategizing_, quote quote, that y'all have forgotten the concept of time!"

Imogen looks at me with a pained look on her pale face. "No, Akio," she mutters. "No, no."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay. Say what you will." I shrug. "But who's taking first watch for night?"

"We're not sleeping," Zane says.

"But it's nighttime!"

"Fine, are you tired?" he counters.

I grin, flexing my muscles, however puny they might be. "No, so I can take first watch if you guys want!"

Imogen and Zane groan simultaneously.

"We will be fine," Imogen sighs. "Just… here. Here's a knife. Why don't you cut up some nice pretty flowers and make a beautiful bouquet for us? Zane and me need to have a little chit-chat."

"Sure!" I chirp, plucking the knife like it's a mere toy from her hands and skittering off. I make sure not to roam too far, but that seems to be where the prettiest flowers are. I frown to myself, conflicted, gazing out at the varying hues of purple, pink, red, orange, and even blue, that grow seemingly just beyond my reach, off in the distance. Then I glance down at the yellowing pansies under my feet.

"You wanted pretty flowers, right?" I holler off to Imogen.

"The prettiest!"

My mind set, I dash off to the distance, easily slicing the stems of the most gorgeous and fragrant flowers I can find, mashing them together in one big bouquet. Tulips, bluebells, daffodils, roses – whose thorns hurt my very soul – and even some flowers that I don't know the names of.

I peep back to my allies, who are invested in some serious conversation. Zane's blue eyes are even wider than usual. Imogen's motioning with her hands, a grave expression on her face.

Plopping the flower bouquet on a bench and scooping up some heavenly, tiny white flowers with a vinelike stem, I weave them into flower crowns. I make sure to make Imogen's narrow and rigid, like her spine, and Zane's crown wide and loopy, like his personality.

Excited, I whip my head back to see my two allies. Perhaps they're watching me with big ol' grins on their faces! Maybe they'll wait for my flower crowns with anxiety and bated breath. Maybe…

What am I saying? They don't care about my stupid flower crowns.

A sigh evades me, and I drop to the bench, the flower crown adorning my hair drooping a bit. This is pointless. I wish that, for once, maybe, I could be a part of Zane and Imogen's deep, deep conversations. Like I'm not just a stupid boy like I was treated back home.

I thought the Capitol, the Games, the arena, everything, would offer me a new chance to reinvent myself. Maybe.

But I just reverted back to my old self.

And I hate it.

* * *

**A/N: Cameras by Matt &amp; Kim.**

* * *

_**16th – Lynden Avior, District Two. Killed by Imani Veneur, District One.**_

* * *

**Knifey, Lynden was the perfect Career. She was incisive, focused, driven, everything. Her interactions with Leander were my favorite to write. Unfortunately, there was one fatal weakness for her – she was soft, too soft, too willing to trust. But that's what made her human.**

**Yeaaaaaaaah. A little late, a little short. Sorry about that. And a little slow-paced too? Only one death since the bloodbath? There's a reason for that. I'm not doing it just to hang onto characters (though I adore them all.) There's a reason that the deaths are and will be very slow.**

**So.**

**Questions?**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Thoughts on the death?**_


	14. Evil Deeds

.

* * *

_**I did not know that I would grow to be my mother's evil seed and do these evil deeds.**_

* * *

**Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

Lynden's death hangs over our heads like a blackened storm cloud, serving as a grim reminder of what happens when you go to the bathroom with Imani.

The minx in question claimed that she had gone to the restroom in question, finding it located in a hallway stemming off of the lobby, and was attacked while they were in there. Amalie and Merchandise, she'd said. They slaughtered Lynden, took one look at her, and ran.

It doesn't make sense. I've seen how those two – Amalie and Merchandise – operate. Amalie's too busy tripping over her own heels in oblivious adoration to do much damage, and Merchandise seems to be too smart to attack an alpha girl duo. And even if the two did attack and killed Lynden, why wouldn't they finish off Imani, too?

Lynch seemed to buy it, though. Wept awhile, poor guy. Got all choked up and said that it wasn't fair that both of his 'homies' had to die.

But today, I'm trying to put the past where it belongs – in the past. It's a new day, no matter how short the night was. Time to move on.

"Two deaths today," I say out loud, piercing the awful silence. I draw the attention of both Imani and Lynch. Imani's eyes watch me like a hunting hawk. "Wonder who they were, huh?"

"We don't need to wonder," Imani replies flippantly, studying her nail beds. "Eventually, they'll just be forgotten faces. Nobody really will mourn them aside from their families and maybe a choice few friends. In a while, they'll just be…" she trails off, studying the darkened clouds, a few beams of buttery yellow sunshine streaming through the puffs of grey. "… lost in oblivion."

I scoff. "Well, if you aren't sunny today."

Lynch coughs awkwardly, his brown eyes darting between her and me. "Girls, please," he says loudly. "We don't need to fight. We can't afford a fight so early on. Our alliance is only down to three."

"Sorry," I grumble. Imani smirks, flipping a lock of silky black hair over her shoulder, murmuring out her own apology.

"But don't you think we should maybe do something?" Lynch asks, wincing slightly as both Imani and I stare at him. "Maybe, um, scout out the area to see if there's anybody stalking us or… something? Anything, really?"

Imani inhales. "Saturninus Lynch," she says in a brooding voice.

To this, the boy laughs heartily, then abruptly stops. "Please. Mrs. Veneur. I cannot."

"You can't even," Imani mutters.

"I can't even," Lynch says.

"Well, lovebirds, I _can_," I interrupt, glaring. "And I agree with Lynch. Looking around and doing something is better than sitting on the ground and being a sitting duck! Anybody could be scouting us out, from a hotel room balcony or even from a pool, and we wouldn't know!"

"I say we take on the hotel," Lynch says confidently.

Imani sighs, shrugs. "I have no say in this, since I'm clearly outnumbered by you two geniuses. Fine. What supplies do we take, then?"

"A backpack each, in case we get separated," I say. "A weapon of our choice, with a knife or two in our pockets just in case."

"'_Just in case'_," Imani mocks me, stooping down to scoop up a satchel. "You're such a good planner, Deverra, my God. You should be an engineer! Wouldn't that be such fun!"

I ignore her, knowing that she's trying to get a rise out of me. Taking a backpack, I fill it with containers of dried fruits and dried meats, sleeves of crackers, a few bottles of water, and a few extra knives, which I tuck into my pockets. Zipping up the backpack, I search for a sickle.

Lynch is already ready to go, his backpack bulging with all the food he could possibly cram in there. I wince as a water bottle's cap comes unscrewed, the bottle protruding from a pocket, and as he jogs along to look for a weapon, sprays water all over his back.

He doesn't even notice.

"So, Deverra," Imani says casually as she carefully scoops up a bag of beef jerky. "Got anybody waiting for you back home?"

_Nobody_. I swallow the truth and lie through my teeth. "Lots of people," I say with verve. "My parents, a bunch of friends, a sister, and loads of cousins. Man, I can't tell you how many cousins I have. I don't even know if half of them are related to me, but they sure seem like it whenever they show up at family reunions and eat us out of house and home."

I peer sideways at Imani, who's stooping to inspect a water bottle. It takes her a while to reply.

"Cute," she says. "Imaginary friends really seem like family, don't they? Such strong bonds that we have with them, hm?"

"Mean," I counter simply. "What about you? Got anybody waiting at home for _you_?"

She takes time to wait until I'm looking at her, and then she beams hugely at me. "Why, of course!" she says in the highest pitch voice I've ever heard. "Lotsa cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers, friends, mommies, daddies… Everybody who comes to the family reunions!"

My cheeks flare up. "Once again, _mean_," I say, walking away to hide the blush on my skin.

Lynch nods as I approach him, acknowledging me. I glance over my shoulder at Imani, trying to massage my bruised ego. "Ever get the feeling that Imani despises you? Not just regular hatred, but something really bad? More than usual?"

I'm not saying that I ever had a way with words, clearly.

He scoffs. "Deverra, who hasn't?"

* * *

**Loren Faust, District Two, Division One**

* * *

The silence in the group is almost too much.

After a _very_ early night last night, with which we alternated sleep shifts, leaving me refreshed and rejuvenated, and a breakfast, which might I say, was very good, we're sort of just sitting in the lobby, doing nothing.

Scratch that. Cheyenne's blushing profusely, wiping her palms on her tie-dyed top and avoiding Rhett's piercing gaze. Even I can tell that something's up.

"Cheyenne?" I say as sweetly as possible, breaking a cracker and offering her half. "Is something wrong?"

She steals a look at Rhett, who smiles sickly, and shakes her head rapidly.

A frown appears on my face as Cheyenne turns her nose up at the cracker. Either she's suddenly grown a snobby attitude, or she's sick to her stomach and can't eat. I should know. She barely touched breakfast, opting for two bites and a sip of water.

Silence drags on as we sit in the lobby, in an isolated corner with a, L-shaped sofa, coffee table, and loads of pillows, on which we all sit. If we were attached, we'd easily be able to see our attackers from across the vast room. But it appears that hardly anybody has stepped foot in the hotel. It's quieter than a dead body in _here_.

"Alright, _stop_ it!" I screech suddenly, prompting my two allies to jump. Rhett's eyelids fly open, but relax quickly when he sees there's nothing going on. "I know that there's something you two aren't telling me, and I'd like to be in the know!"

I gaze around at the two, before selecting Cheyenne – she'll break easier than Rhett ever would – and pulling her up. Her braids slap against my arm as I pull her off to the side, with one final look at Rhett, who merely smirks up at us from the sofa.

Once we're out of earshot from Rhett, I stomp my foot. "What's going on, Cheyenne?"

"N-Nothing," she mumbles, avoiding all eye contact with me.

"Stop lying!" My voice softens as I see tears trembling in her eyes. "…Please. I'm worried about you. About Rhett. About this entire alliance."

"I can't tell you." Tears spill out of her eyes, streaking down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

A creaky laugh emerges from my throat. "Cheyenne, that's silly. You can tell me anything. I mean, aside from Rhett, I'm the one person that you _can_ trust in here."

Cheyenne slowly looks up to meet my gaze. "Rhett is bad news," she whispers.

At first, I want to roll my eyes and chuckle, to tell her that first impressions aren't everything. But, for once, I hold my tongue and think for a second. She had much more time spent with him, being from the same district and everything. They lived on the same floor for days and days, maybe even had the same mentor. Her judgment is much better than mine, evidently.

"Care to tell me why?" I pry gently.

She bites her lip, directing her stare to the floor once again. "He's planning to take advantage of you and me," she mumbles. "He threatened to kill me right there on the spot if I told you anything."

I swivel my eyes to the ground, too, in case Rhett happens to catch me trying to sneak a look at him. "I… I trust you," I sigh. "It was very big of you to tell me that."

"I hope so…"

"The two of us should be able to overpower Rhett." I smile quietly. "But we'll need to get rid of him right now. Do you have any ideas?"

"N-No," Cheyenne whispers, her cautious tone drifting to miserable.

"Well, fine, because I do. I'll go back, and tell him that we're going to cut up some of that beef jerky for later. You take a knife from our backpack, and I have one hidden in my pocket. From there, we'll attack him. He should be unarmed, hopefully, unless he had a weapon before he met up with us. Got it?"

My small ally buries her face in her hands. "Yes," she mewls.

I pat her shoulder rather happily, for somebody who's planning to murder their own ally. "Alright. Let's put this plan into action."

Together we walk back to Rhett and our corner. He's sprawled lazily on the sofa, gnawing on the end of a cracker. When we arrive near him, he raises his eyebrows.

"We're gonna cut up some beef jerky into cubes for later." I smile at him as Cheyenne slowly plucks a knife from our pack and pulls out a slab of beef jerky. Rhett tenses for a second, and then…

He springs.

It barely takes a split second before he's tackled Cheyenne, her knife already in his fingers. She lets out a surprised squeak, and my heart pounds. If I were to jump on the pile, I'd most certainly be allowing Rhett to push a knife into her ribs or something. I should be smart.

But I'm too late.

Rhett's already jammed his knife into Cheyenne's side, ignoring the tears sliding down her face in misery and acceptance. Her heart gives an awful shudder, and her eyelids slip closed as her cannon erupts, the sound ripping through the arena.

I can barely speak. "You killed her!" I hiss, my voice wavering with fury and loss. "Y-You were our ally!"

He lifts his eyebrows, shaking his head. "Don't act like that's not what you were just planning to do to me. I heard you, you know. You should learn to keep that loud voice of yours down. You were planning to ambush me."

My grip on my knife tightens. "No," I say simply.

Rhett scoffs, leaping for me.

Before I know it, we're engaged in a terrible fight. He's about the same size as me, maybe a bit taller, but I'm sure that I have more experience. I've trained my whole life for this. Knowing Rhett, he'd probably be skipping on his lessons, or whatever they have in District Nine.

"You're not going to win this," I snarl as his knife grazes my hip.

A maniacal laugh bubbles from his throat. "You really think not?" he chuckles as my knife swipes his wrist, connecting with bone. Hissing with pain, he hops backward for a moment, sizing up the injury. It takes him a split second to decide that he can handle the pain, and thus, he springs forward again, ready to attack me.

His knife smacks into my thigh. My blade blows across his jaw.

He slices across my stomach.

I shove my knife into his neck.

Holding my belly and doubling down to the floor, I can barely register the conflicting, strong emotions that swarm me as Rhett slumps to the ground, hardly five feet from Cheyenne's corpse, and his cannon booms.

My alliance is obliterated. And it's completely my fault.

* * *

**Briana Valleri, District Two, Division Two**

* * *

We stare as Deverra, Lynch, and Imani trek around the Cornucopia.

It was my idea to go camp out on the roof of the hotel. Good views, good air, good protection. Eira was pretty gung-ho about whatever I wanted, and it was easy access from the elevator.

Once we got the elevator up, about five minutes after the gong sounded to begin the bloodbath, we'd figured out to cut the wires suspending the elevator booth by creeping into the heating ducts. It crashed to the very bottom in no time.

Thank God for sponsor gifts. I wouldn't have been able to cut the cables without a hefty pair of shears.

"Do you think that something's going to happen?" I ask Eira almost dreamily as I watch the tiny, ant-like figures of their shattered alliance march into the hotel. "It's been three days, and, really, aside from the bloodbaths, hardly any deaths."

Eira frowns. "We saw Lynden."

"Well, yeah, her, but she's only one person…" I humph. "I thought there would be more action."

"Our ally died." Eira's eyes close briefly, before she opens them to stare at the clouded sky. "What more action could you want?"

I sigh. "I suppose you're right," I murmur, "but I wasn't too attached to them. What I really want is some drama."

Eira pulls herself to a sitting position, glancing over her shoulder at the back of the chaise longue. "See, there's a difference between you and me," she says. "You like drama. You crave drama. You want action to happen. Me? I'm perfectly happy with what's going on. The world around us can go to hell, and we're still on top of the world, waiting it all out. I don't want any action. That's why we cut the elevator cables."

"Riiiiight…" I frown. "But don't you think that this is a little _boring_, to say the least?"

"Boring," Eira huffs. She raises her blond eyebrows at me, shaking her head like she can't believe me. "You think… that the arena… is boring?"

"A little bit, yeah."

She stands up from her sprawled position and roams to the cement barrier that acts as a fence between us and a terrible fall down to the courtyard. The sweet smell of coconuts and candy, and the acidic scent of chlorine and salt water wafts up to us.

"Fine," Eira says simply. She hops up to sit on the barrier, and motions out to the vast arena. "You can go down the stairs, all five-thousand flights of stairs, to the bottom, and find some entertainment down there. Maybe a knife fight with Amalie, huh? Or maybe we could decide to slice and dice a little kid! How _fun_!"

I don't like scoffing, but I feel like it was necessary. Being snarky to your ally is just plain rude, in my opinion. "Say what you will," I reply coolly, "but a few more hours in, and you'll be wishing for something to do, too."

Eira rolls her eyes. "Briana, if you want something to do, honestly, go down to the lobby and maybe strike up a conversation with somebody who isn't your ally. You want entertainment? I'm right here, though I can't guarantee you'll find me much fun."

"Fine," I say. "Wanna play a game?"

"Roulette?"

"Don't be silly," I mutter. "We don't have a gun."

"What were you suggesting, then?"

I stride over to the barrier and hop up, glancing down at the boulevard and the hundreds of feet of air between me and the ground. It could give anybody vertigo. "I dunno," I say nonchalantly. "You up for some truth or dare?"

"Dares wouldn't be too much fun," Eira muses. "They'd probably be done with our supplies, and we can't risk losing any of those."

"Fine, Miss Catty," I growl. "How about just asking each other questions, then?"

Eira shrugs. "What do we got to lose? You start."

"Okay…." I ponder for a while, catching wind of another alliance on a terrace not too far away. I crane my neck – two tall people, one with long hair, and a smaller person. Maybe the Amalie, Lolita, and Merchandise alliance? I try to get a closer look, but my hand slips, and I nearly tumble over the edge.

A cool hand grabs my sweaty palm, pulling me back onto the roof. Eira glares at me with the ferocity of an angry puppy.

"What the hell?" she snaps. "You're on a barrier a million feet high, and you decide to lean over the edge even more than you already are? That's it, go sit in a lounge chair!"

Sulking, I drop myself in a chair. No game now, I guess.

I watch Eira as she turns to the arena, gazing down and around at the vast land – green grasses, putting greens for golf, shimmering waters, multiple little restaurant-like tiki huts, concrete pathways, terraces, everything you could ask for in a resort.

Except for the trademark blue skies.

I gaze up, brow lowering slightly as I realize that there's not even a trace of sunlight left. Whereas before there were a couple beams peeking through the heavy clouds, there's no sign of light anywhere. The sky is blacker than a melting tar ball.

"Eira," I say cautiously, "don't you find it strange how suddenly the weather's been changing?"

She bites her lip, swiveling her head so that she can look up at the sky, too. "I find it interesting, yeah, but not anything to worry about. It's just the sky, Briana."

But I don't think she gets what I'm saying. I move out of the lawn chair, provoking an eye roll from my blond ally, and stride over to the edge, but not jumping to sit on it. I peer down to the courtyard, where the plant's leaves are shifting in thick breezes.

The wind quickly moves upwards, so we feel it, too.

"There's something going on," I say, my stomach churning. I grab the satchel and motion for Eira to follow me. "Eira, there's something going on! Come on!"

She crosses her arms. "Briana, don't-"

A sudden flurry of harsh gales blow her from behind, causing her thin, limber body to fly off the barrier. She hits the ground face first, a sickening crack sounding when she makes contact.

Shrieking out her name, I rush to help her up.

Blood flows freely from her nose, which is bent at a strange angle. Her eyes are watering, no doubt smarting from the impact. Her pale hand reaches up to carefully touch it, but she withdraws her hand quickly, whimpering.

"We can't focus on your nose right now, I'm sorry," I mutter, genuinely remorseful. I grab her hand and dash over to the staircase.

I can't tell you how long it takes for us to get to the lobby. Outside, we can hear the wind picking up, and even some heavy raindrops splattering the windows of the hotel rooms. If we can hear them from the stairwell, it must really be bad…

Our feet take us to the lobby, and I don't know what I was expecting. There's people there. Deverra, Lynch, Imani, Loren, Imogen, Zane, and Akio, all milling about in anxiety. The only people missing are the three that I saw on the terrace.

I swear, everybody's face pales when we arrive. Nearly all the competitors, here, in one room.

How does that even happen?

Clenching Eira's fist as we stare everybody down, my stomach sinks even lower. A second bloodbath. _Fun_.

It's time to bring out the big guns.

* * *

**A/N: Evil Deeds by Eminem.**

* * *

_**15th – Cheyenne Macrae, District Nine. Killed by Rhett Valdez, District Nine.**_

_**14th – Rhett Valdez, District Nine. Killed by Loren Faust, District Two.**_

* * *

**Elim, Cheyenne was so good. One of my favorites. She was the exact spitting image of one of my best friends, and it made it that much easier to write for her. I just put my friend in place of her, and what she would do in that situation, and it led to something truly magical. Unfortunately, in reality, poor little Cheyenne wouldn't have made it too much further after that turning point.**

**Davi, your third little for me certainly didn't disappoint! After Surtr and Aria, Rhett was a refreshing change in perspective – creepy, stalkery, but at the same time, unbelievably upbeat and willing to play the game as it was. From Ferric to Loren and Cheyenne, he was hilarious. '"RIP," comes the piercing scream, as Dakota Goyo catapults across District Nine.' I'll miss this, and him :'(**

**Alright, a cliffhanger. Honestly, right now it's a complete toss-up on who will live and who won't. Nearly everybody is gathered in the lobby, and you've got the meek people, the antagonists, and just about everyone in between. Nervous. Heightened senses.**

**I'm not gonna be thirsty and beg for reviews, but now, as I'm considering possible victors, reviews definitely help. Especially now that your tribute's life hangs in jeopardy ;O everyone's in danger, eh?**

**And please keep in mind that yes, a little could win! Just because you submitted a little doesn't mean they can't come out as victor.**

**Questions~**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Thoughts on each death?**_

_**Who will be the next to die?**_


	15. That's How

.

* * *

_**This is how it happens to you. **_

* * *

**Zane Ackerman, District Nine, Division Two**

* * *

There's utter silence shrouding the lobby.

"Zane!" Akio whimpers. "This is bad, this is really, really, really bad...!"

"Don't you think I know that?" I snap, trying to keep my voice down - it's not that hard, really. The screeching winds outside mask any small sound pretty well. We're the closest to the doors leading to the boulevard; there's clearly no chance of us retreating back there right now, though. We'd be idiots if we were to go into that terrible wind storm.

"Well, what should we do?" Akio whimpers.

Imogen, next to me, snaps her gaze to him. "Shut up for a second, alright?" she says, in an almost gentle voice. "I'll figure something out... Trust me, alright?"

"If you say so," Akio whines, "but there's so many people! We could be attacked at any moment now!"

It's true, actually. Everybody in the lobby has hit a sort of sleepy lull, everybody's eyes widened with fear and apprehension, every mouth pursed in grim realization. This was no mistake, this storm. It was intended to bring us all together.

Imani, a tall girl with pale skin and silken black hair, steps forward, flashing her spear so nobody attacks. "We all know what they want," she announces loudly, eyes flickering dangerously. "And if any of you have anything to protest it, then, well, you're a wimp. Everybody volunteered to be here. Everybody wanted this." She glares at a couple people. "So I say we get this over with. No use in prolonging it."

"But I'm scared!" Akio complains loudly. Imani swivels to stare that him, and he doesn't even shy from her gaze. "I don't-"

A loud rumbling noise stops him from saying anything else to embarrass himself. The floor quakes once, twice, and I see Deverra collapse to the floor, followed by Imani's baleful expression, just before the glass wall opposite the boulevard's wall caves in.

Loren's the first out, clutching her stomach as she high-tails it towards the door. The realization that even the hotel lobby is not safe rapidly dawns on the majority of others, and alliance after alliance, tribute after tribute, runs as fast as their feet can take them, out the glass doors, into the windy boulevard.

Before I know it, Imogen and Akio are gone, mere whisper of what once were as they run for the hills. Suddenly, it's me, Saturninus Lynch, and Deverra, still moaning from her earlier fall.

And then Lynch, with a final glance down at his blond ally, runs, too.

Deverra's eyelids flutter shut and she rolls onto her back, her chest rising and falling as she grabs onto her head. Imani shoved her - that much is certain. I can already see a purplish marking on her forehead from where she hit the ground. Her training score keeps running through my mind as the ground jumps, causing me to nearly stumble to my feet.

She's good as dead. One of the biggest competitors left, out of the runnings.

I could leave her here.

But humanity makes me run for her, pulling her heavy body up and tugging her out of the hotel as, moments later, the entire wall opposite the boulevard caves in, showering the floor with glass shards and rainwater.

Deverra moans slightly, staggering from side to side as she sizes me up, trying to consider me, no doubt wondering why I saved her. Even I don't have a good answer. District loyalty? Humanity? Pure goodwill?

There's no time to ponder, though.

"Where do we go?" Eira Valliere screams out, hand still up to her face, where dark blood trickles from her nose. Her other hand squeezes Briana Valleri's like a vise. "The boulevard's not safe!"

Imani cusses at her as the winds pick up, swirling and ramming into people like brick walls. If Imani wanted us to fight, I'm afraid her wishes will have to go unanswered. Nobody could possibly try to slice and dice in these conditions - and who would want to, for fear of their arm being chopped off by accident, thrown about by the wind?

Eira's question, too, hangs in the air.

Suddenly, there's yelling, familiar yelling, and my heart is racing and my brain is pounding and I am still holding Deverra's hand, clutching it like it's a lifeline, supporting her as her legs wobble about. The yelling is relentless. My stomach hurts.

It's Akio, and it's a death scream.

He's in the air.

This isn't normal. Gravity would have taken place now, no matter how insane these winds are, blustering around and shoving everybody to their bottoms. The gales would have picked up Loren first, who is curled up in a ball inside the mouth of the Cornucopia, holding her head.

His small body, smaller than mine or Imogen's, probably the smallest here besides Loren, gets picked up easily by the wind, his limbs sprawling about, mouth outstretched in utter pain. His eyes, though, are the worst to look at - they reflect childish fear, complete terror, and obliviousness. Wide open, rolling around, completely white, the irises rolled up underneath his eyelids.

They latch onto me as he spins crazily about.

I open my mouth, perhaps to yell out some sort of comfort to him.

But his body smacks into the wall of the hotel - and then slides to the ground, a cannon echoing in the terrible, terrible winds.

* * *

**Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

Akio's body gives a final shudder before curling into itself, sliding along thanks to the relentless winds.

Tears stream from my eyes, though they're not out of sympathy for the boy I never knew. To be honest, I only noticed him once or twice, either skittering along in the training arena with his weary allies in two, or backstage at the interviews, complaining obnoxiously about how his tie wasn't flashy enough. My tears aren't for him. They're from the incredibly cold wind meeting my eyes. Tears mingling with blackish blood, running down my lips into my mouth, creates a very salty, metallic taste that I cannot stand.

"Briana," I say, and then I repeat it, yelling. "_Briana_!"

She still can't hear me. Her gaze is focused on Zane, the ally of the dead boy. Sympathy crosses her face as she watches the boy's eyebrows drawing together in pain, and then some sort of relief.

"Briana!" I scream.

I don't get it. She should be able to hear me. Why, oh why, can't she hear me?

My feet start moving towards her, but I plunge to the ground in no time.

It's not the wind that pushed me, but Imani Veneur. She snarls at me, teeth gnashing for a split second, before she lashes out at me with a long knife, the blade glimmering in the light. I barely have time to gasp before the blade grazes my shoulder.

Staggering back, finally attracting the attention of Briana, I fumble for something, anything, on the ground that is a weapon. I remember stepping on a couple when I was running out. A knife here, a crossbow there, littering the ground because there were too many to use. Where are they all now?

Briana comes to my rescue, stabbing towards Imani with a spear.

Imani gives a roar, twirling around, head tilted towards the sky. Briana swings the spear towards her stomach, and the dark-haired girl falls to the ground.

Me and my ally exchange a smile - her clutching the spear, me still grasping my bloody nose. We got her. A successful attack. All Briana needs to do is -

A knife blade quickly swings at my thigh.

My skin is cut open easily, like it's soft butter under a steak knife. I scream, white hot pain searing up on my leg, and I nearly fall to the ground before Briana clutches onto my shoulder, keeping me up.

"Why are you doing this?" I choke out. Honestly, I think I'd never do the same if the tables were turned. I'd stab Imani and run, leaving Briana for dead. But her kindness... It's not deserved on my part.

She only offers a mysterious little smile. "You're my ally, Eira. Allies help each other like that. It's just what we do."

A loud scoffing noise comes from the ground, and my stare snaps to Imani. "Such sweet chit-chat," she sneers, struggling to be heard above the wind.

"You know, we have the upper hand," Briana yells, a scowl darkening on her brow. "Just wait until you taste my spear!"

"'Taste my spear'?" Imani playfully gags, her expression sickeningly fake. "Childish, so childish. But what else is to be expected from a mere sixteen-year-old?"

Imani knows the right buttons to press. Making jabs at Briana's ego and all that. And pride always was her deadly sin.

"_Fuck_ you!" screeches Briana, blindly stabbing the spear downwards, towards Imani's stomach. It misses by a long shot, a good half foot from Imani's skin. A hellish chuckle rises from the girl on the ground as the gales die down slightly, her eyes piercing us both.

Briana lets go of my shoulder. I stagger to the ground, falling backwards, and I can only watch as Briana advances on her enemy, eyes narrowed in bitter hatred.

A swing of the spear and a crunch, as it impales itself in the ground. Imani leaps to her feet, a satisfied glare resting on her face.

It's all over for Briana as the knife swings towards her neck. On her face, once so beautiful, now marred by raindrops and tears, I see a flash of knowledge of the thing to come, coupled with remorse and misery.

And then, the blade meets its target.

My stomach twists and I vomit promptly, bile spewing from my lips and streaking through the air before splattering on the ground and Imani. I can't tear my eyes away from Briana's body, limbs in a heap, hair covering her face, blood trickling down her neck, her own brown eyes staring out at me. I stagger away, collapsing to my feet as a particularly strong wind gust knocks me down. I'm vulnerable. Right now, I'm just waiting for the final blow to come down on my back, ending my life as gorily as Briana's ended. But... nothing.

I don't waste time. I've never been one to squander anything. I get back on my feet with a last look at my fallen ally, a silent apology quivering on my lips, and I haul my sorry self out of there.

* * *

**Amalie Traselle, District Four, Division Three**

* * *

"It's been quiet," I say, staring at the blackened storm clouds, which have brought their brothers along - twisting winds and hard drops of rain, pelting down on the terrace like hail. "But I see that the Gamemakers don't wanna keep the weather quiet."

"It's just a storm," Lolita says quietly. "Nothing special."

I shrug, watching the rain splattering on the concrete. "Maybe this makes up for the lack of action we've seen lately, then. Maybe, somehow, it gets some tributes to fight."

"How?" scoffs Lolita.

Twisting my mouth into a frown, I turn to Merchandise, whose turquoise eyes are fixated firmly on the sky. "Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?" I ask. He doesn't reply at first.

"Well," he says grimly, "quite frankly, I think that there's not been much action at all. Amalie, you're right, this storm means something. Not for us, but for others. It has already brought two deaths. Plus, there were a couple just before this. But Lolita, you could also be right - maybe it's nothing. Just regular weather."

I expect Lolita to give me a smart, smug smile, but her tart little mouth stays firmly pursed in concentration. "We've been lucky." She speaks in a gravelly tone. "Only losing Adriana. It could have been much, much worse."

My eyes well up with tears that threaten to spill over. "Poor Adriana," I whisper, curling my knees up to my chest.

Merchandise puts his arm around me comfortingly. I barely notice how his eyes sparkle as he looks at me. He says something, most likely to soothe me, but I don't even pay attention. It's funny. I was obsessed with him in the Capitol, the way he chucked spears and sipped his soup at lunch, but here, I can barely bring myself to pay attention to him. I've changed, maybe. Definitely, actually.

I mean, back in Four, I had lots of crushes like that. Sure. Every girl does. But I never got over them. I wrote their names over and over, surrounded by multicolored hearts and smiley faces, and I asked them to hang out with me all the time, and even when we drifted apart, I still remembered their names, their opinions, everything. It was like they'd melded themselves to me.

Now, I can't remember a single one of them.

Maybe the arena changes people. When I volunteered, I didn't give it much thought. I mean, yes, I thought about the stakes and everything like that, but never how I would react to it all. I'd always thought that since I'd had such strong of a personality, I'd stay the exact same throughout the arena, and return the same girl. Kooky, sporadic, a little goofy, but... the same.

It seems like I've changed already.

Lolita and Merch have started a new conversation. His arm is still looped around my shoulders, gently rubbing his thumb along my bicep. Callously, I withdraw myself from him, smiling rather fakely as I stand up and stretch.

Rain pours in torrents off of the roof from where we are under. A sort of open-air bar, if you will.

"Do you guys think we should move?" I ask, interrupting their conversation.

Lolita stares at me with piercing brown eyes. "Why do you say that?" she asks levelly.

I shrug. "Security."

"We are secure here, Amalie," Merchandise says, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. "No attacks. No nothing since Jaiden killed Adriana. Why do you want to move? Are you paranoid?"

"Hm..." I hum, glancing outside at the rain. "Not quite. Just... apprehensive. That's the right word, isn't it?"

"Right." Merch nods. "And I get it. You being apprehensive, I mean. I am, too."

"Same," Lolita agrees, piping up. "Like... why are we getting nothing? We sure have been awfully lucky compared to others. No action. At all. Not even a sighting of another tribute. Are they favoring us? Do they see us as-"

A nervous look passes between me and Merchandise. Lolita's off on one of her questioning rants again, one that could potentially get us in a lot of hot water if we don't quell her spark quickly. "Lolita," I chuckle nervously, eyes glancing to the sky, like that'll tell me if I'm doing the right thing. Like the Gamemakers will send down a lightning bolt to shut Lolita up if I don't, or something. Gee, isn't nature fun?

Her stare whips violently to me. "What?" the little girl snaps.

Merchandise shakes his head at her quickly. "Don't," he breathes.

She opens her mouth as if she's about to say something fiery, but quickly shuts her mouth. "Fine," she growls, crossing her arms over her little chest and slumping back. "I can take a hint."

Relief flows throughout our group - through Merchandise and me, anyways. Back in the Capitol, I guess I was too lovey-dovey to think about many tensions rising up, but now that my eyes are clear of distractions, I can see.

We've got problems.

"Maybe we should, though." Merchandise swallows.

I stare at him, heart fluttering. "Move?"

"For safety." He nods.

"Are you insane?" Lolita sighs. Merch starts talking, but she holds up a hand, obviously exasperated. "No, no! I think it's a splendid idea! We could get hit by a chair that's being pushed by the wind, you know! Or these glasses could accidentally fall off the shelves! Ooh, scary stuff! Maybe we should go to the courtyard! I mean, if the Cornucopia rolls over and smashes us, at least we'll die knowing that we tried!"

We both stare at Lolita, her tongue full of fire as usual. She raises her eyebrows to clarify that she's done ranting. I turn to Merchandise.

"The courtyard, then?"

* * *

**Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Divison Three**

* * *

Pandemonium.

My chest is tight as I survey the area, blinking rapidly to flush the rain and wind-blown debris out of my eyes. I can't tell for sure what's gone on. Glass coats the ground, I can see that. Windows smashed from airborne objects. I saw Akio smash into the side of the building, bless his soul. I cried for that. And I saw Briana on the ground with a knife in her windpipe - I cried for her, too.

But about ten minutes later, and nobody's sure what to do. Everybody is bouncing back and forth, trying to get the hell out of the courtyard. What seemed like a safe refuge has shown itself as a battle zone, insanely dangerous for everybody and everything inside it.

I scan the place, searching in desperation for Deverra, or even Imani. No doubt she'd be stalking tributes down. Taking advantage of this. I don't have much hope about getting her out, but Deverra? Maybe? She trusts me, and I trust her. She'd follow me out of here, wouldn't she?

I don't have time to ponder. Out of nowhere comes Loren, hurtling herself towards me as crystalline tears stream down her chubby cheeks. Her eyelashes are clumped together.

"Lynch!" she cries, wrapping her arms around my abdomen and squeezing as tightly as she can, burying her face in my side. A hollow feeling fills my insides, quickly melting into warmth as it all registers. My district partner. Little Loren. She sought me out, in all this chaos and confusion, for safety. The thought melts my heart.

"I'm so glad you found me," I say, embracing her, too. The moment doesn't last for long, however. A window directly above us shatters, showering us in sharp glass pieces. Loren makes the mistake of glancing up, her face meeting the worst of the shards, and she screams.

"Loren!" I gasp, hunching down and bringing her directly under me to protect her from anything else. The razor-sharp glass quickly bears down on my back, and I wince as I feel my skin being ripped open. Tears sting my eyes. I grit my teeth, hugging Loren close so she doesn't get another single shard buried into her skin. I don't want her to feel any more pain than she's already in.

Finally, finally, it stops. I straighten my spine and choke out in pain, feeling the glass crunch underneath my skin. I try to take a breath for calmness, but it hurts my ribs.

"Th-thank you," Loren wheezes, turning her face to me.

I cuss on impulse as I see the damage that was dealt. She's very lucky that nothing got in her eye socket, but it touched pretty much everything else. Her lips are stretched open to reveal glimmering pebbles of glass and blood, blood, crimson and maroon and cherry red blood, blood in her cheeks, blood in her eyebrows, blood in her chin, blood drops trembling on her eyelashes, blood streaking down any exposed skin that's been untouched by the terrible glass.

"You must've got it worse than me," I say gently, plucking out one of the larger pieces.

She picks a shard from her gums and spits out a wad of saliva and - you guessed it - blood. "You saved me," she replies, blinking in confusion as she looks up at me. "Why?"

I chuckle. "You're my district partner, Loren. I do have some loyalties."

She tries a smile before wincing quickly, and then cringing at that pain, too. A hollow sound comes from her throat. "Man, I need a mirror, don't I?"

Clutching her small hand in my big one, ignoring the white hot agony in my back, I manage a smile. "Let's be allies," I say. "I can help you get them out."

Before Loren can utter a word, screams erupt from all around us. I whip my head to the side and see Imogen bolting through the broken glass, sandals crunching as she steps on large shards. There's a grinding sound above us, and I look up just in time to see the top of the hotel crumble down into the courtyard. My eyes flicker to the one open space that nobody could reach, and see Lolita, Amalie, and Merchandise clambering over the wreckage just in time for the avalanche.

Writhing bodies tumble as plaster, glass, debris, and humongous pieces of buildings collapse inwards. I'm shoved to the ground by an especially large piece pinning my shoulder down, mashing my back into the glassy ground. My spine is on fire. There's no end to the pain that the glass brings.

Next to me, still clenching onto my hand, Loren has fallen, too - but she wasn't as lucky as I.

Her cannon, the loudest of them all, ricochets as a huge section of wall crushes her chest inwards. Her eyes bug out, her fingers frozen, glued to mine. There's a loud cracking noise as her ribs cave in on themselves, splattering the debris with even more blood, something I've grown accustomed to, now. The only mercy that she's not alive to witness her own bones betraying her.

She is still.

"Loren!" I sob, but I can't hear myself over the sounds of the hotel caving in. Down, down, down. I see a body tumble as one section collapses. A flash of blond hair and flailing limbs falls to the ground rather quickly - I don't have time to see who it is. If there' said cannon, I can't hear it.

Somehow, Imogen is still on her feet. Darting on top of all the rubble that has pinned everybody else to the ground, she moves like a rabbit, light on her toes and nimble. She even carries a small knife in her hands.

She evaded it all. Somehow.

But even her victory is short-lasted. She isn't quick enough to dodge the final wall as it collapses on her and most of the rubble, sealing in a final layer. I squeeze my eyes shut tight to block out the plaster and dust as it comes down, but they still sting. There's stuff in my mouth, tickling my tongue. In my ears, making it very uncomfortable to listen and feel the reverberations as they echo all around me. My sweaty hand is still closed against Loren's.

Imogen crashes somewhere over me. I can tell because it's her voice that lets loose the shrillness scream I've every heard. She sighs out a defeated groan. I hear her bones cracking, too - the only reason mine haven't given in is because I'm both big-boned, and under a sort of bridge of the rubble. A cannon shoots. No doubt it was hers.

I can only lie there, still clinging to the corpse of little Loren, chest heaving with tears and pain. Nothing seems real. It all happens so fast. I turn my head, wincing as my skin rubs against some glass, and stare at Loren's demolished little body, her skull and arm the only things that haven't been flattened completely. Her eyes are huge, wide... dead.

How did I manage to live, and this innocent girl didn't? I've done some terrible things. Loren... She was too pure and naive and sweet.

It should have been me.

* * *

**Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two**

* * *

I cough, clenching my fists and clambering out of the hole. My eyes are heavy with dust, but I think that was the last of the avalanche.

Hopefully.

I squint, looking out at the rubble that was once the majestic five-star hotel. The place reeks of acrid burning, for some reason. Rain pelts down, stinging the wounds I received, yet cooling my skin. A strange combination of soothing and pain. It's welcomed, though, definitely.

My feet travel lightly, pattering over the debris that litter the ground so heavily. I misstep and nearly fall onto a body. Imogen. My eyes widen as I take in her crushed chest, exposing two damaged lungs, and I shudder, moving on.

There's not an area untouched by the fallen hotel. The building itself is still intact from the first four floors down - only the top twenty or so had collapsed. But that was enough, I guess, to fill up the entire courtyard with rubble and corpses.

I was lucky to fall and get out alive. I mean, I was on - maybe - the sixth floor when it tumbled inwards. By struggling, using my ar muscles to worm my way upwards, I avoided being crushed, and remained at the top of the heap, too. Luck. Sheer luck.

A yawn emerges from my mouth. How many deaths were there? I heard one, maybe two cannons. I'm sure there were more. There had to be.

All of a sudden, I see movement, and my heart is in my throat.

Diving for cover, in a little cave just below the surface, I curl up facing outwards, remaining as still as I can be, clutching my nose so I don't hyperventilate. An alive tribute is dangerous. I'm not smart, and I'm not the best at fighting, decidedly. Who knows I'd be able to take on the tribute who survived?

I hear footsteps plodding gently over the wreckage, and I stare out with beady eyes as the tribute passes me without so much as a glance.

Imani.

My eyes follow her to the edge of the rubble, where it slopes considerably. She has nothing in her hands but air, but her tread, confident and self-assured, speaks otherwise. Her mere expression speaks volumes.

Imani stops abruptly at the edge, bending down to inspect something.

A pale hand pokes out, fingers wiggling wildly, trying to get a grip.

I don't know what possesses Imani to dig out the tribute. Mercy? Curiosity? Maybe even humanity? I would have done the same thing if I were her, obviously, but this is Imani we're talking about. She's a sabertooth tiger in lip balm and a braid.

It takes forever for Imani to pull the person free. Ten minutes pass. The beginning of a chest is viewable. Twenty minutes. Imani has some difficulty picking out a piece of sheet metal. You can see the start of a thigh, bloody even though the shorts. Thirty, forty, fifty minutes, and finally, the head pops free, dusty and bloody but victorious and smirking.

It's Lolita.

The little girl dusts herself off rather quickly, smiling at her savior. "Glad to have found you," Lolita says in that creepily calm voice she always had.

Imani gives her a once-over. "I was expecting Amalie."

Lolita gives a hollow laugh, pointing far down into the rubble. A creaky moan can be heard, repetitive and desperate. Definitely female. "She and Merchandise hugged each other to death as the hotel came down. They're both really far in. I had the common sense to haul ass. Made it almost to the brink when the final floor collapsed."

"Think they're dead?" Imani kicks a pane of glass.

The littler girl shrugs. "I heard Amalie. Merchandise probably played the hero. Took the worst of it for her. No use trying to dig them out now, anyways. They were getting fed up with me."

"Looks like we're allies now," Imani murmurs. "Only two who seem to be intact."

"Two thirds of the District One girls." Lolita's eyes blaze. "What a shame Sabryn isn't here."

"I actually wish she was here..." Imani frowns. "She was more useful than any of my allies, anyways. Yours, too. She could actually kill when the time was right. I saw her. Wish I could have pulled her into my alliance before she made friends with stupid Peridot..."

Confliction passes through me, a warm feeling that stays. I listen to Lolita and Imani making small talk and I sit there, wondering and wondering. If I were to go, I could be back stabbed. I don't trust either of the girls as far as I can throw them. And yet, they're my best chance of making it to the finale and, in the end, winning...

I don't do well on my own. God, I'd suffer on my own.

I find myself pulling my body to my feet, giving away my location. Imani barely flinches as she looks back, a smile spreading across her thin lips when she sees me. "Sabryn," she says. "We were just talking about you."

"I heard," I say. "Allies, right?"

Lolita and Imani laugh in unison. "Allies. For sure."

And just like that, the deal to determine my fate was set in stone.

* * *

**A/N: That's How... by D12.**

* * *

**_13th - Akio Kurama, District Two. Killed by Avalanche. _**

**_12th - Briana Valleri, District Two. Killed by Imani Veneur, District One. _**

**_11th - Loren Faust, District One. Killed by Avalanche. _**

**_10th - Imogen Khareen, District Nine. Killed by Avalanche_****.**

* * *

**Jocelyn, I adore cocky, childish Careers, and Akio fit the bill perfectly. He was too childish for his own good, but that's what gave him originality. His spark, if you will. Insecurity got the better of him sometimes, but he always bounced back. He might not have been everybody's favorite, and he might have originally been a bloodbath, but I loved him. **

**Cloe, you gave me something new to tackle in Briana. A backstory that nearly suffocated her personality, she got a sense of freedom to be herself in the arena, in her own habitat with Eira and, for a very short time, Spiridon. She was reckless, fun, and a little stupid at times, but she was the perfect realistic teenager. Thanks, as always, for submitting!**

**Sarah, Loren didn't originally die here. First she was a bloodbath, then a possible victor, and then she sort of wound up here. I don't know how. She was almost everybody's favorite - mine too, clearly. But without Cheyenne or Rhett, her development sort of slowed. She wouldn't have much left. So I decided that this was the civil way to go. Rip, babe ;_;**

**Magik, your tributes are always so good. Imogen was no different. Everything about her clicked, made sense, and she was by far one of the strongest here, just trapped in a less-than-strong alliance. I loved writing for her. She was so easy. I related to her in so many ways. I'm gonna cry. I just couldn't find a reasonable development path for her. But... I loved her. **

**Yeah I'm gonna cry. But I'm really proud of this chapter, aside from typing it up on my iPad (PAINSTAKINGLY. EXCUSE ANY TYPOS PLEASE. I DON'T EDIT HAHAHA). Really proud. I literally teared up twice. I can't describe it. Emotions ran high, clearly. **

**Alright, well. Now that that's over. ;_; two new alliances formed - one at the start, one at the end. Six tributes are buried in rubble. Three are alive and well. We'll see how this turns out. **

**And I CAN'T decide my victor. I thought I had it but NOPE. My brain's gone crazy. **

**Questions!**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**What happens next?**


	16. Sin Wagon

.

* * *

_**When it's my turn to march up to glory, I'm gonna have one hell of a story.**_

* * *

**Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three**

* * *

I don't know how long it takes before I wake up.

There's dust in my mouth, my throat, my eyes. There's no saliva on my tongue. I breathe out and a cloud of plaster puffs from my lips.

I'm pinned like a bug. Amalie's at my side, moaning in pain. There's a steady trickle of blood coming from her temple, and her nose is completely smashed. Her skin is coated with dust, with rivers of blood stemming from her temple and nose. Her eyes are closed, her hand trembling as it tries to get a grip on a large piece of glass.

Pushing my feet, squinting as little shards of glass rain down in a tinkling sound, I try to worm out. My muscles ache, but I can't waste time. I need to tend to Amalie's nose.

But as soon as my arms pull me up to another level of plaster and wood, a sharp pain rockets up the side of my stomach. It's the worst pain I've ever felt in my life – vivid and white-hot and agonizing. My jaw trembles and with a burst of adrenaline, my legs free themselves and I heave myself to the top of the avalanche heap.

Panting from the exertion, looking around, I can safely say that there's nobody that I can see – yet. However, there's a wide amount of pained cries that I can hear. Moans, groans, sobs, and even cusses are uttered, spread variously throughout the boulevard. Amalie's own whimpers are blocked out of my ears. I can't hear her from underneath all the rubble.

I take matters into my own hands, concerning my wound. There's a knife impaled in a sheet of wood – gratefully I pluck it out and cut away at my tie-dyed top, now more red than any other color. It's clinging by a sleeve. Stripping the shirt off of my hot chest, my hands explore the side of my torso, hissing in pain once I feel how raw and meaty it feels.

And then I look down.

There's hardly any skin on my left side – it's all muscle and fat and blood. I must have been scraped by something as I collapsed, since it runs down to my hip, to the top of my thigh, too. I'm only lucky that it didn't cut too deep, or my heart would have been touched.

There I lie, vulnerable and broken, on top of a sheet of wood, just waiting for the kindness of some Capitol stranger to muster up some coins to sponsor me. I'm not counting on it, since almost all of my district partners are still alive and, to be fair, if I were a Capitolite, I'd sure sponsor one of them more than I.

But that doesn't stop me from hoping. And really, in desperate times, sometimes all you can do is hope.

I don't know how long I lie there. If I'm immobile, the pain almost seems unserious and illusory. I'm awake to see Saturninus Lynch pull himself from the wreckage, a good forty feet away, and I know he sees me, but we don't visibly acknowledge each other. It's enough just to be lying down and respecting each others' injuries like the men we are.

The furthest away, closest to where the lobby once was, Deverra and Zane pull each other out. Zane is first, with a chunk of wood impaled into his shoulder. I can hear his grunts as he plucks Deverra out, her blond hair almost all red from slick, slick blood.

I hear his screams of agony as she tries to pull the wood out. She fails.

Swallowing and staring at the sky, which remains a coal-colored shade of black, absent-mindedly plucking at the dead skin at my side, I almost don't notice the silver flash that appears at my side.

A parachute.

I feel Saturninus Lynch's eyes on my back as my hand almost lazily reaches over and clasps the silver container. Fumbling fingers pop it open with difficulty, but it works.

A sickly sweet stench reaches my nostrils, and a rather large medical container falls onto my chest. I force myself to sit up, wincing as pain shoots through my side, and I open it. Three rolls of white gauze, medical tape, sterilizing wipes, a needle with a spool of thread, and a container of white goop lie nested in the box.

Though dread tightens my chest, I know what I have to do.

Clutching the medical box, I ease my shorts down to my knees, though I keep my boxers on. I love the limelight, but that kind of attention disgusts me. Next, I wipe the area surrounding the injury clean with the sterilizing wipes.

Dipping my fingers into the goop and smearing it inside the wound – which hisses – I ignore the churning and acidic feeling of my stomach. My fingers are slick with blood and I feel woozy.

It's no use to even try and stitch it up – I'd need some sort of skin transplant, since the two edges are so far from each other. My skin was completely stripped off. Instead, I smother it with gauze and tape and hope for the best.

It's easier and easier to hear Amalie's vocal chords working overtime, whining and creaking. But I… I just can't muster up the strength or motivation to pull her free.

It's the final nine. I need to start thinking for myself, and not for Amalie.

And I do this for myself when I leave her to suffocate.

A long process. I sit on the boards and stare blankly at the sky, hand lifelessly dragging itself over and over my injury. Am I feeling pity? Remorse? Sadness? Do I feel like a monster over what's going to happen to her, she who trusted me so much? And the only answer I can give myself is…

I don't know.

A voice comes from my side. The raspiness and general deepness labels it as Saturninus Lynch. Something's wrong with his vocal chords – when he says my name, it comes out as "_Marshandise_?"

I lick my dry lips. "Yes, Saturninus?"

He blinks, his eyes wide, a pale shade of brown like a barely toasted piece of bread. "C-Could I have some of that medicine?"

My chest tightens, my throat constricts. No matter how innocent and harmed he looks, no matter how I'd love to do nothing more than fork over the canister of medicine, though my humanity is screaming at me to just give him the darned ointment, I can't. I can't risk the chance for this huge threat to die off quickly. If I were to give him some help, he could rise and get better, and I can't let that happen, no matter how vulnerable and weak he looks right now.

I've always been a decent person, respecting the people around me and everything they stand for. But I've noticed that the Games is not a place to be a decent person. Groaning Amalie, four feet under, is proving that.

"I-I'm sorry," I croak out. "I can't."

Realization and pain dawns on him and he nods slowly. "I get it," he mutters miserably to himself, turning his body slowly. I'm too much of a fool not to tear my eyes away from his back, so I'm forced to view the bloody lacerations that cross his bare skin, crimson and black against chocolate brown.

I take his hint and turn around myself, wincing as my wound strains out onto the bandages.

All of a sudden, Amalie's soft whimpers turn urgent. She screams like she's been thrown into a pool of acid. My blood freezes, and my numb hands scrabble frantically at the metal beneath me, struggling to get to her. Screw being an indecent human who leaves their own ally to suffocate.

I can't grow past my roots.

But I'm fine with that, I think.

It all happens so fast. All of a sudden, I can make out her hand, and I grab for it, and her screeches turn ragged and bloody. She's sobbing, and all I can do is clutch onto her hand, because somehow I _know_. She'd never have lived, suffocating on her own blood as her nasal passages and throat slowly filled with dust, slowly being crushed under the weight of the rubble.

God, what was I _thinking_?

* * *

**Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

He can't do it anymore.

After tearing the chunk of wood from his shoulder, Zane nearly passed out. He's in a bad place. To be fair, I had half a mind to just up and leave the pitiful boy at my feet – it would just make it easier. With a gaping hole in his shoulder, riddled by splinters, with him moaning and begging for some water, he's definitely not going to make it much further unless he has some serious help. A cannon just shot, and I don't think he'll live to see the next one.

But he saved me from certain destruction when the building collapses. And I'm indebted to him.

I already stripped away the tie-dyed shirt to pull out the wooden plank easier, so now all that remains of the once stunning blue and yellow top is a bloody rag of fabric.

It's enough.

Dragging a large piece of sheet metal over him, shushing him when he begins to whimper, I dart through the debris, my head aching with every step I take. It seems to take forever just to get to a pool, and I know that even this will pain him more. But there's a slight chance that he'll be healed by this.

Maybe.

I run back to him, carrying the sopping wet shirt. I step over a body, and I make the mistake of glancing down.

Imogen.

My heart stops, and I stoop down to her, placing a trembling hand on her bruised skull. Her lips are shut, looking sassy. Her eyes stare out blankly at me, a pale shade of blue that resembles childish innocence.

I try hard to take a breath that's not shaky. It's just so hard.

Gently shutting her eyelids, I stand back up. I barely knew her other than the girl who loved to wear her dark hair in thin braids, and the girl who allied with Zane out of sheer pity and sympathy. She had a good heart. But kindness has no place in the arena. It will only get you a knife in your ribs.

Shaken, I go back to Zane, pressing the wet shirt into his wound. He startles, awakening immediately.

"D-Deverra…" his eyes focus on me, lips trembling. "What's happening?"

He's disorientated. But he still has a fighting chance. And I believe in him, too. He's my district partner. He's one of the strongest people I know – dealing with not one but two of his allies' deaths. Stumbling around the District Nine floor, a lost, vacant, blank look in his big blue eyes. There's something going up in his mind that I don't know about.

But somehow, I connect with Zane more than I do with Imani, or even Lynch, no matter how sweet he is. He reminds me of how I was, before I decided to transform myself.

Because I know what Zane is going through. He's feeling lost, alone, abandoned, even. He's got corpses for friends and a ruin as his savior. At least he has that. I had nothing back in Nine. No hope, no friends, not even a glimmer of salvation. And that's why I threw myself into the small training group formed by Roland and Olivander, District Nine's past victors. So I could say that I did something for myself, for once.

To show myself that I wasn't just a lying coward who cut her roots free just because they didn't treat her just a little nicer.

That I was independent. Strong.

If only we were in a different circumstance, and I could actually help Zane without feeling like I'm shooting myself in the foot. I could mend his broken parts and pick him up. Give him a shoulder to cry and vent on, just so he wouldn't be alone.

"I'm healing you," I whisper.

A sleepy smile drifts across his face, and he whispers something.

"Come again?"

He laughs shakily. "I… I knew that saving you would be a good decision…" His eyelids slip shut and he struggles to open them. "Y-You're a good friend, Deverra. I haven't known y-you for very long, but… sometimes you can just tell, you know?"

I sigh, burying my face in my hands.

I remember the first days in the Capitol; they seem so long ago, when in reality, it must have been just under a week. I was nervous, skittish, but hard-pressed to continue the façade that I had thick skin and guts and emotions of steel. When Imani greeted me, ready to form an alliance of alphas. When I met Leander and Lynden, their eyes wide and oblivious like morphling users, hands clutched tightly together. When I first talked to Lynch, his smile wide and completely sweet.

All those memories are dead. I can't relive them, I can only remember.

I could try and restart our alliance – without Leander and Lynden, naturally. I could try and scout out Imani, shifty and unstable as she may be, and pick Lynch up. I think I can see him. Not to be racist, but there's nobody else left with his skin tone anymore. Either it's a corpse or his still body.

But I know that what's in the past, is never to be brought up again. Not here, not in the Games. My present is sitting in this pile of collapsed building next to a boy who saved my life, leaving his entire trust in my hands. My future is…. Uncertain.

How many of us are left? Not that many. I didn't see too many bodies littering the ground, but I'm sure that they were all buried.

I turn to Zane, a sudden idea forming in my head, staring at his limp form as he tosses and turns in his slumber.

I know I'm indebted to him. But… he's suffering, so it wouldn't be that bad to put him out of his misery, would it? And it's not like it's early on in the Games…

Not giving myself time to think, I flip Zane over onto his back. His eyelids snap open, staring at the sky. My movements are quick and precise. Gripping my knife, I place it over his throat and rip it across, a red smile instantly tearing across his neck. His shoulders slump, his lips part.

His cannon is instantaneous, and so is my regret.

I… _killed_.

* * *

**Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One**

* * *

Two cannons.

"That's relatively bloody for something so soon after an avalanche." Imani frowns. "Either there's some killers out there who are unaffected by a falling building, or there's just a few late deaths."

"I'd guess the latter," I offer, plucking a cracker from the bag and plopping it into my mouth. "There's not that many people left who'd be willing to kill like that. Plus, I doubt too many people would still be alive."

"Let's hope it's not the former, anyways." Sabryn looks at us with an expression that even I can't read too well. "We don't want to be surprised."

Imani snorts. "Please." She strides towards the balcony side, gazing down into the rubble. There's a few stragglers that linger, some lying stock still and others limping around, but there's nothing too drastic. Seems like we were the luckiest ones to get out of there, so far.

I'm not about to get cocky. I never have been – just… very confident in myself. But not cocky. Never cocky.

I've seen the way Imani rolls. She's got a heart of air and the incentive of a warrior, all bundled up with a black ponytail and a cute tie-dyed shirt. Sabryn seems to be a polar opposite. She's got a ruined façade and broken motivation, with a fallen ally and a shattered smile.

How do I work, meanwhile?

It's simple.

I have no soul.

"I'm going to go get us some water." Imani strides away, raising her eyebrows the tiniest bit. "Stay alive, you two."

I snort once she walks away, hugging my knees up to my chest. "Disappointing."

"What do you mean?" Sabryn asks, her pale eyes conflicted.

Quirking the corner of my mouth up into a half smile, I shrug. "Well, don't you think so? An entire avalanche, and this is the alliance that we can scrape together. I'll admit that I'm not the strongest, and you're decent, but Imani?"

"She's killed, probably," Sabryn says defensively, rushing to protect the absent Imani. "At the bloodbath." Her gaze drifts away, and she sighs.

An idea pops into my brain, and I smirk.

"She killed your ally, is right."

Sabryn's head slowly turns back to me, her expression full of confusion and hurt. "P-Peridot?" she stammers out. "You're talking about Peridot, right?"

I place a hand on her shoulder, looking deeply into her baby blues. "Sabryn," I say gently. "I am only a little girl. Do you really think I'd be able to kill somebody? Honestly? The only reason I volunteered was because I was behind in my classes. I never would have gotten the chance when I was older. I volunteered to maybe somehow hide from everything and make it out. But Imani… she's got experience on her hands and a ruthless attitude behind it. She wouldn't be below that. To kill one of her district partners, no less."

Sabryn looks like she's in shock. She returns the hand on my shoulder, and tears waver in her eyes. "B-But she couldn't have!" she says in a gaspy breath. "The bow and arrow isn't the weapon she would have used, she likes… she likes…"

"Archery," I say gently. "There's about two others I can think of who would have used archery, and they're young and incapable. Imani did the deed."

"Why would she kill her own district partner?" Sabryn says sorely. She slumps back in her chair, wiping away a quivering tear, and gives a half laugh. "I'm sorry you have to see me this way. "I mean, we just met, sort of…"

"It's fine." I offer a reassuring smile, a bit sickened by how easily I can lie to a girl in this much pain. I knew I was good at being silver-tongued and manipulating weaker people, but I always Sabryn to be so strong. She was predicted fourth by the Capitol, after all. Now she's a blubbering mess. "Just let it out."

"… Um…"

"You're right, that might not be such a good idea since Imani is coming back soon." I laugh for a second. "Well, conceal it, then. Or… ugh, I've never been too good with feelings. Forgive me."

At least that much is true.

I've never really felt anything but the emotions of curiosity and satisfaction. The two things that make the clocks tick and the earth spin. If you're curious, you're not satisfied, and if you're not satisfied, you're not curious. Opposite sides of the spectrum, really.

The only thing is, I was oppressed at home. It wasn't, like, abusive or anything. Just very, very restricted and binding. We couldn't talk about controversial subjects at all. My thirst for knowledge of the unknown thrived whenever my mother raised a finger to her lips. My father was no better. He barely let me speak at all, unless it was to say please, thank you, or welcome to our home.

On the playground at school, I was the one who would always carve cuss words into the wooden equipment, smirking to herself when she had seen the mark she'd made. And when it was discovered at school the next day, I could act as shocked as anybody else, inwardly smiling at my good work.

Friends came and go. Our school and academy was big enough that I got a good taste of every group.

The popular kids who cared more about hair gel and avoiding desserts than training. I didn't do so well in that group, even though they loved me, since they skimmed topics quickly, and I was always left hungering for more.

The _un_popular morphling kids, who always had a pack of cigarettes on them and sighed whenever they were called on in class. The groups who lived in ramshackle homes next to the diamond mines, forging for food each day. I was pretty neutral with this group, since they didn't talk about the controversial subjects on their own, but didn't object when I brought them up. To be fair, they didn't really talk at all.

The hardcore trainers was the group I liked the least. Overly obsessed with training, with a pocketknife or two on them at all times, it seems, and sweat suits as their daily outfits, the only talking they did was to threaten the dummies.

My favorite group, however silly it might seem, was by far the nerds and those who were most intelligent. Though most were a little shy, almost all of them were willing to drop anything – calculator and textbooks and all – to discuss the topics with me.

Who really ended the Mockingjay rebellion? Was District Thirteen really obliterated a second time, or was it just identical footage that they showed us? Why was 'crap' such a harmless word, and yet parents still hissed when you said it? How does morphling get smuggled into districts such as ours, even though our hospitals use other medications – good, Capitol-issued tonics and pastes – instead of it?

Important issues.

It pains me to think that I'm so close to reaching my goal of becoming a victor, where I can talk about anything I want without being muted, and I'm stuck in an alliance with a sob story and a heartless girl who's just going to turn on me.

And I can't leave without painting a flashy red target on my back.

Lovely.

In the end, though, I'll just have to suck it up, like I always do. My parents never lavished unnecessary compliments on me, but whenever they did, it was something along the lines of 'Lolita is such a trouper. We're lucky to have her.'

I'm a trouper. A survivor. A fighter. A soldier.

And somehow, I can live out of here, even if it means breaking somebody else's neck to get what I want. There's already blood on my hands and I'm not above killing again.

I'll make it.

Somehow.

* * *

**A/N: Sin Wagon by the Dixie Chicks**

* * *

_**9th – Amalie Traselle, District Four. Killed by suffocation.**_

_**8th – Zane Ackerman, District Nine. Killed by Deverra Lisett, District Nine.**_

* * *

**Teddy, it pains me to tell you that yeah, Amalie's gone. She was a cutie. I took her in a different direction than you were probably expecting, but then again, you never read this story anyways ;) Keeping characters around for plot is cool, though. And she did have a plot, even if you never got to enjoy it. Stay cool, Daddy-O. Fanfiction misses you (and so does Amalie huehuehue.)**

**Jalen, yeah… Zane's dead. He had a lot of different possibilities to him, since his form was so full and ready for development. I decided to give him a charitable end, and it was slow, and it might have been boring to you, but I enjoyed it. He died as a hero by the hands of the very girl who he saved. You made somebody who had a good plot and a good run, Jalen. Be proud. xo**

* * *

**I hate killing my favorites, and I'm thirsty. Life's not so sweet.**

**Updates will be scarcer, now that I have this hefty paper due in September. I've started it, so that is why this update is a little late, but… yeesh. I have a lot more work to do.**

**So, hey, congrats to our top seven, since the top eight was kinda ruined by Zane-io. **_**Lolita, Sabryn, Imani, Merchandise, Lynch, Eira, and Deverra!**_

**Questions~**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Thoughts on each death?**

**Who do you think will make the final 5?**


	17. Back to Life

.

* * *

_**Black, I watched it all fade to black.  
**__**This was where my heart was at, broken and bleeding.**_

* * *

**Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two**

* * *

My eyelids snap open.

Moaning slightly to myself, blinking as I survey the place, it occurs to me how silent the place is. How long have I been blacked out? An hour, a day? Overhead, the sky still swirls gray, and the wreckage is all around me. I can see Akio's body barely five feet from my body, his skull caved in and eyes bugged out.

I groan, picking my body up and rubbing my aching shoulder. I can barely remember anything that happened around the time of the avalanche. Bodies whipping left and right, bricks hitting my body and scraping my skin, even knocking out a few teeth. My finger explores the inside of my mouth, feeling around the sensitive, bloody gums where my pearly whites used to reside.

But it's not just teeth that I've lost in the arena.

I've lost an ally.

Briana's mangled corpse is nowhere to be found; probably buried underneath four layers of rubble. I can only imagine the damage done to her body – bruises, scrapes, cuts, gashes, breaks, fractures. A ragdoll in a tantrum. A baby in a hurricane. Helpless.

God, I wish I'd never said yes to an alliance.

_Allies would bring pain_, I told myself. _It's better to stay put and accept it all… that you're going to go at it alone._

But stupid me. Silly Eira Valliere, dumb in childhood _and_ her teenage years. I was a people-pleaser inside and out, volunteering for a stupid reason, trying to put up barriers but in the end, I was ultimately the one who took them down again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I have to do something if I want a sliver of a chance of making it out. I've been useless so far – not a single kill to my name except for that tiny boy from One in the stupid _bloodbath_, and to top that depressing achievement off, I've been a vegetable, rotting away on a rooftop as my ally nearly fell to her death twice. Now that something exciting's happened for the Gamemakers, I've been the little sleeping princess. They kept me alive to entertain them. But I haven't.

That can't happen. I need to accommodate the Capitol, the real reason why I'm here. I need to do something. Put on a show.

If I can force myself.

Pulling myself along, foot by foot, every muscle in my body aching and moaning for relief, I drag my feet along the crystals of broken glass, staring out desolately in disbelief at the wreckage. A bare skeleton of the hotel remains, all bones and no meat. Pathetic.

Weapons are scattered – the hilt of a sword here, a splintered arrow there. The closest thing I find that could possibly serve a purpose is a long blade with blood on it, still sticky and crimson. I don't waste time in imagining it to be Briana's.

And then… I come upon a body.

His shoulders have fallen, his lips cracked, and there's liquids coating his entire body – a mixture of sweat, blood, and pus. I reach down, dragging the blade gently along his dark skin, and the fluid mixture comes up foamy.

But his face is the shocking part. So shredded by glass, coated with dust and tiny wood splinters, it looks more like a scary mask than the face of an actual human being. When I bring the knife down a second time to try and maybe wipe some crud from his face, he whimpers, not even bothering to open his lacerated eyelids.

Saturninus Lynch is unrecognizable.

"Lynch?" I whisper out.

He raises his head very slightly.

My heart is quick to melt, since it's not like he's a stranger. A stranger would have been, say, Sabryn Sinclair. We locked eyes once and that's the amount of interaction we had. But during chariots… he came up to me. Entertained me, chatted me up. Almost made me smile, before I remembered my place and covered my mouth. I remember thinking him of a meat shield, something resembling a chocolate truffle. Hardened on the outside, gushy on the inside. Back when I thought I was hard through and through. Unbreakable.

But now it just doesn't resemble Saturninus – it resembles me, too.

Sudden tears swell my eyes, and I angrily swipe them away. I shouldn't be here. Teenagers shouldn't be allowed to make the decisions on whether they come into the arena or not – why not adults, who've made terrible choices that molded them to be the people they are today? Why was I allowed to shout those two words that sealed my fate? Why didn't my mother stop me?

I shouldn't be here. Not here, where a kid I barely knew is making me cry.

"I'm sorry," I whisper down at him, a lump in my throat preventing any big speech.

I know what I have to do. But I hate myself for it.

Killing a person immobile like Lynch isn't going to make me stronger – it would be like slitting the throat of a little kid like Conner or Lolita. An easy target. Like… Ferric. The name of the little boy who I killed way back in the bloodbath.

Though mere days ago, it seems like eternities have passed since then. I never thought I could change as much as I did. I was so deluded, tricking myself into thinking that I was hard like a rock, unable to change my ways. I wouldn't let anybody under my skin. Allies were a necessity, but there's no way I could get attached! Not me, Little Miss Perfect!

God. I hate myself for even letting that thought cross my mind.

I kick the ground, uprooting a cloud of sawdust. Lynch curls up even more, his muscles straining, his tie-dyed shirt completely gone. A single tear streaks down his cheek, a trail of wetness in the center of dry dust.

He's vulnerable. Weak.

Instead of doing the thing which any sane person would do – dragging the knife across his throat and stalking out, looking for somebody else to kill, I drop to my knees. My heart is in my throat. Instead of doing anything legible, I splay a hand over his shoulder, letting my fingers explore the deep wounds that were dealt to his skin.

I'll do it when I'm ready. But for now, I can relax, try to calm down, and maybe… try to enjoy the comfort of another human while I still am sane.

When he wakes up, I hope he doesn't startle too much.

* * *

**Imani Veneur, District One, Division Three**

* * *

Lolita sidles closer to me.

"Look at Sabryn," she whispers, her top lip curling in disgust as we watch the blonde girl. "She's gone from the femme fatale to nothing but a crying, sighing, worm."

"She was never a femme fatale," I say cruelly, wrinkling my nose at the mere sight of her. "She volunteered for this as a child. She still _is_ a child. A woman, or a femme fatale, as you say, would be able to pick up the pieces when she's grieving. Sabryn's proved nothing of her ability to do that."

"I told her who really killed Peridot and she snapped," Lolita murmured.

"And who was that?"

Lolita looks up at me, her brown eyes hardened. "Oh, Imani. I thought you were more competent than that to know already."

I flip my hair, narrowing my own eyes at the little girl. "I'm sorry that I didn't have time to sit back and relax during the bloodbath to know who was slitting who's throat. I, for one, was actually throwing myself out there and killing."

"Fine." Lolita raises her eyebrows slightly. "It was me."

It's difficult not to smirk. I maintain a glassy stare out at the pool and Sabryn's shaking body, the cogs in my brain slowly turning. It's not like I allied with this little girl because I didn't see potential in her. I do. She's strong and blunt, just the right qualities for a partner to have. I mean, why else would I risk chipping a nail, digging through all that rubble?

I just never expected her to have accomplished a _kill_. A kill of her own, and with a much larger competitor. Peridot got a 10 in training, for God's sake, and a capitol prediction of sixth. And yet, he fell in the bloodbath, apparently by the hands of this little girl beside me.

She's got blood on her hands, and she's not shaking and sobbing over it like the girl who got a prediction of fourth.

"I never would have expected," I say levelly.

Lolita shrugs, keeping her eyes on the water. "I'm not incompetent like some people think," she says softly. "I volunteered for a reason. I thought it all through."

I rub her arm gently. "I knew it wasn't a mistake to pick you out of the avalanche," I say. "Sabryn, however… I'm having second thoughts."

She stifles a cold laugh, eyes glittering. "She was bland to begin with and she's only spiraling. I say we off her now." Out of the corner of my eye, I see her turn her head for my approval. Sabryn sobs on.

"I don't-"

I'm too late. Lolita's got another side to her, clearly – impulse.

She storms down from our vantage point, little feet pattering against the stairs as she darts to Sabryn. The blonde girl in question is about a foot from the edge of the pool, curled up in a ball, a mess of snot and tears and blood. A lonely katana lingers by her side.

She turns when she hears Lolita, and her eyes widen.

_I should probably help little Lolita out,_ I think to myself. And then I think, _but she got herself into this mess. How come I can't just stay here and watch the two duel it out? Not like I ever cared for Lolita in the first place – I just considered her to be a formidable ally._

My own mind battling itself, my feet make the decision for me. I quickly find myself just behind Sabryn and Lolita, the former now on her feet and gasping.

"What happened?!" I growl to my little ally.

"I slipped up!" howls Lolita as Sabryn's shoulders start heaving. "I overshot and nearly flew into the water and she found out what I was doing!"

"Slick move, kid!" I bark.

Sabryn's like a frightened mouse, cornered by two cats. The fear in her eyes is striking; yet she holds her katana with braveness and vigor.

"L-Leave me alone," Sabryn stammers out.

I bite back a cackle. "Oh, poor Sabryn… you think that's an option at this point."

There's a fire in her eyes, though. Before I know it, she's running, running, running, and Lolita's tackled her. They're a blur on the ground, a tangle of long hair, sweat, growls, and flashes of metal. I see a blade graze skin but I can't tell who cut who.

All of a sudden, they're up on their feet. Lolita's gasping over a wound on her arm that Sabryn cut open again. Sabryn's panting, blood trickling out of her nose and dribbling into her lips.

"Screw you," Lolita whines.

Sabryn has the nerve to force a smile, teeth tainted with blood, and raises her eyebrows. "Sorry, kid, I'm straight."

This really sets little miss Trancy off.

Lolita howls like a wolf pup, barreling towards Sabryn with revenge for her injury on her mind. But she's too blinded by vengeance and impulse that all Sabryn has to do is literally take a step to the side.

My little ally throws herself into the deep end of the pool.

I watch her spluttering, choking up water, panicking as she realizes she doesn't know how to swim. My heart barely lurches for the girl who will go underwater within a minute. I have bigger things on my mind.

Things like Sabryn.

I glare at the blonde girl. She raises her eyebrows.

"You sure like to play with your food before you eat it," she spits out.

I don't make a snarky remark. This isn't for entertainment. This is for life or death, and I plan on making it home. If Sinclair over here wants to spend her last moments on earth making sarcastic jokes and stupid comments, then that's her problem. I won't cry when I slash her throat; won't shed a single tear.

I tackle her, this time expecting her to step to the side. She moves to the right, and I wrestle her to the ground, her head cracking on the concrete. Her eyes widen, lips quivering. Tears swell up in her eyes, but she's shed too many for today to let me see her cry.

We roll around on the ground for a while, roaring at each other and shrieking whenever something smacks down on poolside concrete. Nothing's coming of this, and I'm kicking myself for it. I'm the alpha dog here. I'm the one who's supposed to be overpowering her, holding her wriggling body to the ground with a single foot.

It was never supposed to be like this. She was never supposed to match my skills.

"Just give up already!" I snarl at her, exhausted.

Her eyes are haggard but full of determination. "No. I'll never let you win."

I'm not sure when the knife fight starts – me and Lolita's fallen spear and Sabryn and her katana. Even then, we're matched, and I start berating myself for not just lopping her head off when I first saw her after the avalanche. Why did I think she'd make a beneficial ally, when all she's doing is going against me?

Lost in my thoughts, I let my guard down. Out of nowhere, her blade slices into my shoulder and I let an angry shriek loose, hopping back. My arm whips the spear into her side and she nearly tumbles to the ground, breathing fast and raggedly. She kicks my shin, sending me barreling into the ground.

This is _ridiculous_! I was the top trainee. I have more skills than she could ever dream to have.

But… she's got a certain fire that I don't have. The fire fueled on vengeance.

"Why _me_?" I wheeze out, my voice devoid of any sinister undertones now that I've lost the upper hand. "Lolita's the one who attacked you and killed your ally!"

Sabryn's cruel gaze falters. "She… she's the one? But… she told me…"

The reality of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks, and I scream again, this time more out of confusion than anger or pain. That little demon manipulated Sabryn like she was _her_ pawn! That's why she wants to attack me instead of the rat who's doggy-paddling in the swimming pool like she's trying to save her life – Sabryn thinks I'm the one who killed Peridot!

"She killed Peridot!" I scream.

Sabryn's eyes refill themselves with tears, and she doesn't even bother to blink them away. "I don't know _who_ to believe!" she whimpers.

All of a sudden, there's a high-pitched voice, clogged by chlorine and desperation, coming from behind our feud. Lolita, who dragged herself to the side of the pool, still wholly submerged but managing somehow to stay afloat. I'm surprised that all the bull she has in her hasn't made her sink. Her sopping wet hair sticks to her pale face, and she swipes it away with a hand.

"Why are you believing Imani?!" she yells. "She's desperate! You're about to stab her and she makes this last dying attempt to turn you against me! I'm the one who had the decency to tell you who really killed your ally before I was cornered – even if I did try to attack you, I at least show some respect for people who've lost an ally!"

Sabryn's eyes harden and she looks down at me, her face full of hatred. "You're a worm, Imani," she says in an eerily calm voice for somebody who's got tears flowing down her cheeks like it's raining. "I might never have told him, but Peridot was important to me. If you can't own up to what you've done, and then _lied_ about it, you deserved to die a long, long time ago."

And I guess my death is justified, then. I've lied and I've manipulated and I've worked so hard to get to the point where I am now. But nothing could have ever prepared me for somebody who was an even better manipulator than myself.

Even if I'm not satisfied by the way it ended – by the hand of a mere pawn.

"Any last words?" Sabryn spits out.

"Yeah." I smirk, my head aching. "I just want to tell you that you're glass, Sabryn. You're so see-through it's not even funny. You were never strong enough to show everybody the real you, so you put up this façade. You're dumb, Sabryn – you should have known that people would never have fallen for it. And instead of tricking people like you'd hoped, you were fooled by a twelve year old who got here by sheer luck. I hope you're really happy with your decisions, Sabryn. I know I am with mine."

Just before the katana comes crashing down into my chest, I see Lolita offering a smirk and a cheery little wave.

_Rat_.

* * *

**Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two**

* * *

I can't believe what just happened.

Shaking, trembling, choking, I convulse over and over, staring at Imani's limp body. Her pale limbs are sprawled out, her lips open in an awkward fashion. My hands vibrate against my katana's handle, and I don't even try to look over at Lolita, still struggling in the water.

Instead, I bolt.

My legs take me far, past the terrace, looping around towel huts, over fallen palm trees, all over the arena that caved in on itself. I don't have a destination in mind – I just hope that I don't collide with anybody.

I wind up at the exterior of the hotel, alongside a particular pile of concrete blocks. My hands shaking, I slump down, mulling over my terrible luck and terrible deeds.

Leander was one thing. I barely knew him. He was just another meek face in the crowd. But Imani?

She's different. A district partner. She may or may not have killed my most trusted ally. Her death made me feel something – I can't tell if it's pity, remorse, or even satisfaction.

But what made my emotions stir most was that speech at the end.

"_You're glass, Sabryn."_

She saw through me. She knew the real me, it felt like. She knew that I wasn't the girl I had buttered everybody into thinking I was. In Imani's mind, I was transparent…

And I hate that.

I pull myself off the ground. Sniffling around won't help my case. Being a wimp, mourning over a person I barely knew, that won't drive me home. If I ever want to live out of here, I need a new façade. I need to be stronger than I was.

I need to be unstoppable.

So unstoppable I shall be.

I'll put on a real show for the Capitol. I'll struggle and fight without a single emotion flickering across my face. I'll kill in the name of being victorious. I'll play my part, as long as the queens and kings of the Capitol make sure to know who I am, where I stand in the arena.

I'll be invincible.

I just need to let everybody know that I'm worth it.

A different expression crosses my face, and I dab away any loose-leaf tears that remain. I'm a new person – not a crying weakling, not a survivor, not even a determined tribute. I'll be a robot.

No weaknesses. Just actions.

Peridot was the exception, and that was before I decided to be strong. So for me… I will achieve.

All my life I'd had to be alone, fighting my own battles, waging my own wars, using my words as weapons. There was never a problem with it before. It never really mattered – I mean, in the big picture, does tricking a little girl of the best-flavored juice box matter?

No.

But here, now… everything matters. One wrong misstep and I've alerted people to my location. A falter in my words and one can see my weaknesses. Anything I do can be used against me. Do I want that? Do I want death to succumb me?

Never.

I rise again, smiling slightly at my newfound strength. In the distance, as the moon shines dimly through the cloud cover, I see three forms of people – a girl with straggly blond hair, tied up in a knot, and two bodies on the rubble. One is surrounded by a pool of shimmering liquid.

I'll take them on tomorrow. Who knows who they are? I haven't been keeping track of deaths much. But as the Capitol anthem blares, and one by one, the faces are projected throughout the sky, Briana's included, I know one thing.

I'm never letting go of this chance I have.

* * *

**A/N: Back To Life by Colton Dixon.**

* * *

_**7th – Imani Veneur, District One, killed by Sabryn Sinclair, District One.**_

* * *

**Jake, I think it's safe to say that everybody here hated Imani in some way, including you. Yeah, nice pep talk, I know. But she was here for a reason – to stir the pot, and to create tension within everybody she interacted with. It'll feel hollow without her controversy, but hey, you go, man.**

**Another chapter and the plot still thickens. Six left, so congratulations to our hotties who made it here! Sigh. You do you, honeyboos.**

**I've been noticing a decline in reviews over these Games chapters, and I think the main reason is because your tribute died off and you feel no need to review anymore. Inhale. Exhale. I'd just like to let you know that manners are a thing, cuties :))))))))))) hahahahahahaha I'm. I'm. Yeah. Manners. Haha. Fun. You feel no need to review for district partners? No district loyalty? Hahahaha it's. ahem. Fun.**

**Feel my pain. Feel my wrath. Feel my agony.**

**I am woman. Hear me roar.**

**Questions~**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Who do you want to see in the finale?**_

_**Who do you think will be in the finale?**_


	18. When I'm Gone

_**.**_

* * *

_**And when I'm gone, just carry on, don't mourn, rejoice.**_

* * *

**Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Division Three**

* * *

I awaken to the sound of breathing.

Normally I'd be scared out of my mind, questions rattling around in my head. But everything just hurts too much. My eyes sting from shards. My lips are bloody when I lick them. My skin is penetrated everywhere with tiny ribbons of glass. Even my nose – it hurts like hell to inhale.

I feel terrible.

My eyelids fluttering open slightly, my vision forms the bleary image of a girl hurriedly standing up, dusting off her shorts. "I-I'm sorry, I really am," she stammers out.

Holding up a hand for her not to worry, I heave myself in an upwards position so I don't choke on dust or something. My hand hits something and my throat constricts.

Loren's hand and wrist, knuckles still clenching at her arena outfit even in death, look so small compared to mine.

Tears brim my eyes. I swipe them away hastily, forcing myself to man up. I barely knew Loren. She wasn't an ally… except for the end. I never interacted with her… except for the multiple times on the District Two floor. And training. And interviews. And the train.

But it's not like we were close. Not really.

I shouldn't be so worked up over her death.

The girl from earlier holds out a hand, interrupting my thoughts. Cautious on whether to take it but eventually deciding that I don't have much of a choice, I accept it, and she pulls me up.

"I'm Eira," she says. "We talked during chariots, remember?"

I blink, not daring to wipe my eyes in case I get any glass shards buried in deeper. "I remember that," I say vaguely. "You turned me down for an alliance."

Eira's lips twist. "Sorry about that," she mutters.

"No, no, no worries… I wouldn't have allied with myself, either." I laugh hollowly, desperately wishing that it were genuine and not forced. If there's one thing I've lost in the arena, it's my humor.

Eira sighs desolately. "I was just walking along and saw you lying here and… I don't know what I was thinking, I just kind of lie down next to you and next thing that I know, you're waking up, and…" Her bottom lip trembles and her hands fly to her lips, brown eyes bugging out of their sockets like a cartoon character.

"No, that's okay," I say, hand held out to comfort her. "Cry. It's good for you, I've heard."

She looks at me with teary eyes. "I can't," she whispers dryly. "They told me… that…"

"Who told you what?"

She blinks again rapidly, pressing a hand gently to her temple. "I must be ill," she mutters.

"We all are, it's the arena." I frown. "Who told you what?"

Eira looks up at me like a cornered dog ready to snap. "M-My parents… friends and trainers… they all told me that…" She lets out a frustrated hiss, pacing around the wreckage. "I can't tell you this, I can't tell you _anything_ about them!"

"Why not?"

"They don't want me to." Her answer comes instantly.

My eyebrows furrow, both out of pity and confusion. "Eira, it's alright… you can trust me. They're not here anyways, are they?"

She closes her eyes, fists balled up and pressing against her head. "They're always with me," she whimpers hollowly. "They follow me wherever I go, and I need to obey them or they'll be so, so disappointed."

"It can't be that bad."

Eira opens her eyes. "It is…"

"Tell me."

She cracks a half smile, her eyes still glistening with withheld tears. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

No sooner do the words leave her mouth when I see a figure looming just above her. Her matted blond hair and deep brown eyes define her as a girl from One. I try a smile, obviously the one with the lower hand, but her frown tells me that she's not here to play games.

"Eira," I say as gently as I can.

She hasn't noticed Sabryn lurking behind her yet. "What?"

I beckon with my eyes, careful not to make a scene. Even so, it's useless – Eira instantly springs to her feet, fingers curling into fists. I don't even see what's happening – a trickle of blood from my forehead suddenly blinds me. Sabryn yelps in sudden pain. Eira staggers backwards.

"What's happening?" I boom out, clawing around, trying to get a grip.

"I-I…" Eira lets out a squeal. "She…!"

All of a sudden, there's weight on my chest, and the wind has been knocked out of me. I reach out, feeling a mess of hair, clumped with dried dust and blood. "Eira?" I try again.

She mewls from under my grip.

Sabryn is relentless – obviously satisfied that we're down for the count, she must be counting us as easy kills. Her foot drives itself into my ribs once, twice, three times, each time causing me immense pain. I choke up blood, feeling shards of glass within my throat to impale themselves deeper. My skin is on fire.

"Stop, stop, stop," I croak out, barely able to make my lips form the words. "Please… please. You're hurting me."

She sniffles, considering me, and then the glimmering weapon in her hand. But she says not a word.

"Lynch…" Eira's eyes are glassy. "Let it happen…"

With one swift movement, before she can say anything else, the knife is driven directly into her back.

It happens in slow motion. One moment Eira is on top of me, choking up blood and reassuring me, and the next moment, she's slumped over, her back arched eerily, her eyes blank and unforgiving. Stricken, I squirm beneath her body, tossing her off me easily, muscles rippling.

Sabryn stares down at me, the knife tainted with blood in her hand. The stars in the sky twinkle around her.

She moves down towards me, a slinking silhouette.

I do nothing to stop her. She's more in it than I am; to be fair, ever since the glass panes basically dissolved on my skin, I've been in constant pain. I never would have won ever since that. Loren's death, Lynden's death, Deverra's disappearance, those didn't help, either.

My only regret is that I had, in the end, retained myself – died a man with a smile on his face and motivation still whirring in his heart. Not like this. A stain on the long list of deceased tributes, only to be forgotten in a year's time.

Maybe it could have been different.

Maybe I could have done something to stop all this.

But I can't. Not anymore. I've given up.

So I only lie there, closing my eyes, accepting the knife as it comes hurtling into my chest.

* * *

**Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three**

* * *

It hurts so bad.

Croaking out, dragging one foot behind the other, I bring myself to the edge of the pool. My hand dips in, feeling the coolness of the water, and I bring it to my lips. The chlorine stings at my wounds, and it tastes terrible on my tongue. But it's all I have.

Sponsors have been helping me tremendously – my wound feels much better since it was first inflicted. But the tears haven't left my eyes, and the lump hasn't abandoned my throat. I'm still kicking myself over leaving Amalie to just die.

Though, in the end, now that we are at the final four, was it really such a bad decision?

I frown, making out my silhouette in the blurry, shifting waters of the pool. All I can really see are dots of light, resonating off the surface. But there's a little glimmer of hope in my heart, that maybe, just maybe, one of those stars is looking down on me particularly tonight. Shining some good vibes and motivation down my way.

It's a silly hope.

But maybe it will give me luck.

Inhaling slowly, I start feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time. It's a nice night, too. The sky is inky black. The air is crisp. The chlorinated water is cold. Everything feels like clockwork.

I just wish it could remain like this – peaceful, tranquil – forever.

I might not have been the most moral. I may have flirted too much, and been serious too little. Every one of my friends might have been made on a bridge of lies and fake laughter, but in the end, I was happy. Deluded.

But who can blame me?

It's just so easy living a life of dishonesty and dreaming.

A noise from behind me makes me turn sleepily. At this point, all my movements feel like I'm in a cloud of nicotine, riding out a high. The new arrival stares down at me. It's Deverra, that one girl from District Nine, but she looks… strange.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She sways a little, her cheeks puffing up slightly. "I'm not okay," she says in a creaky voice.

I clumsily pat the concrete next to me. "Sit down, it might make you feel better."

She staggers over to me, plummeting to the ground, nearly diving into the pool. I catch her bony wrist at just the right time, calming her down enough so she can gather herself into a sitting position.

"What happened?" I ask.

Deverra shakes her head, quivering. "It's all caught up with me, Merch. The killings, the tributes, the arena, the weapons… everything. It just makes me so sick. I can't believe I signed up for this… and even _killed_."

I pat her back awkwardly. "We all signed up for this. We've all killed to get to where we are now. It's the norm, Deverra. You're not special or anything." My words come out wrong, but they seem to do the trick.

"You're right…" she lets out a breath, her pale brown eyes softening slightly. She coughs. "I guess I'm not. But it still gets to me, you know? I really want to make it out of here. Alive. Not in a casket."

"I feel you…" I murmur. "But after all that's happened, I don't know if-"

All of a sudden, Deverra's slight presence by my side is gone, quiet as a butterfly's wing grazing a leaf. I'm too tired to turn my head, so instead, I sit there, wondering if it's possible that I could have imagined all this.

But then I hear her voice.

"I want to make it out alive." Her voice repeats. "But that's why I need to kill you."

My eyes widen, and suddenly I'm not too tired to turn my head. Adrenaline kicks in. My reflexes make me swoop to the ground as Deverra's knife draws back, barely missing my neck.

I lie on the concrete, inches from the side of the pool, breathing heavy, staring up at her, a silhouette surrounded by inky black and dots of white stars.

"You talked to me…" I say, choking on my own words, "and then you try to kill me?"

Her eyes are soft, apologetic. "I didn't want it to be like this," she says. "I want you to win, Merch. Though I barely know you, you seem like a decent guy. Sensitive, nice, not a complete jerk like half the guys out there. But I want more for myself to make it out of here." Her body suddenly wracks with a fit of coughs, but she collects herself enough to say something else. "Self-preservation is a real _killer_ sometimes."

Deverra swoops close to the ground, coughing yet again, and makes a weak attempt to jab at my ribs. I roll away, dangerously close to the pool, and avoid the weapon.

"Stay still…" her eyes are pale, nearly lifeless. She's obviously drained – though she's got embers in her eyes. Not a fire. Not even a spark. But there's embers, glowing still.

I manage to gather enough snark to offer up a smirk. "I'm sorry, little lady, but that can't be arranged."

On my feet in moments, wincing at the sharp pains that shoot up my side when I stretch my unused muscles, I face her. I'm weaponless, but maybe I can outsmart her. Push her into the pool or something.

Deverra seems to have sized me up already, however, and she rushes forward, arms outstretched. They barely miss my chest when I duck to the side. A growl escapes her lips, and she whips her head to view me, eyes blazing. "I asked you to stay still!"

"And I said that that couldn't be arranged!" I shoot back.

She snarls. "You think you're real funny, don't you?"

I shrug, maintaining a goofy smile. If she laughs, I'll have an advantage. If she gets so annoyed with me that she's blinded, I'll have an advantage. If she starts seething, I'll have an advantage. There's no wrong route here. "I like to think of myself as a Capitolite comedian."

Flustered but determined, Deverra lunges forward again. It's like I have syrup gushing through my veins instead of blood. It's just… so hard to move…

It goes on like a game of cat and mouse for quite a while – she doesn't have the strength to lunge and push me over into the pool, and I'm still capable to dodge her blows.

And then… something changes.

Maybe Deverra's adrenaline picks up. Or maybe my blood turns into sludge. But somehow, I slip up. My body moves so slow, feeling so, so heavy.

She doesn't even have to try to push me into the pool.

In slow motion, I reel backwards, my foot scrabbling backwards and finding only air. My body launches itself over the edge, and the last thing I see is Deverra's face, barely illuminated by torches in the distance, looking miserable.

Water surrounds me, filling my wounds with chlorine and feeling as if it's acid. Terror seizes my limbs and pain spikes up through my body, underneath my skin, little shards of fire crawling through my veins and worming into my tendons, my muscles, like a parasite. A scream escapes from my lips in the form of a bubble, which rapidly shoots to the surface.

Which way is up? What do I do?

My limbs flail about, ignoring the concrete feeling in them. I'm determined. I've made it this far – I can't let Deverra win.

But I'm just… so… tired…

My movements become slower and slower, yet before I know it, I'm up, popping up to the surface of the water, spitting out a mouthful of wretched-tasting water and finding myself staring at Deverra again. She hasn't moved. She stands there, staring at me from her vantage point on solid ground, mocking me with her safe stance.

Her eyes meet mine. Brown. Contrite. Weak.

And I go under again, too tired to flail about anymore. The jig is up. She's won. I can't swim. There's sludge in my veins. I'm beyond help anymore.

_Back to zero…_

* * *

**A/N: When I'm Gone by Eminem.**

* * *

_**6th – Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two.**_

_**5th – Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Division Three.**_

_**4th – Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three.**_

* * *

**Komiking, Eira was really special. She might have been somewhat a more developed version of Imogen, but she did have feelings that she liked to hide, and I delved into that the best that I could. Thanks for coming out of your trib-submitting hiatus and subbing, bae ;)**

**Sofia, I don't know if you're still reading or what, but I want you to know that I loved Lynch. I think he was everybody's favorite at some point, and it killed me to… well, kill him. He was the image of a modern teen, and I loved that. He was such a sweetheart, you have no idea.**

**Tyler, Merch caused a heck lotta controversy at the start of this story (yoooo mini shoutout to Chaos and her fantastic blog review! Man, Tyler, your controversy is great!) but in the end, he was just a big sweetie with a not-so-hot blog post. Over and above all, he was fab.**

**We're at the finale, and to be completely honest, I'm glad. This story has been my favorite to write, but I feel as if I either dragged it out too long, or if people have just lost interest. In the end, though, just another completed SYOT to add to my infinitely long list ;)**

**Yeah, congratulations to our final 3, Lolita, Sabryn, and Deverra, and their respective submitters!**

* * *

**Our final set of questions… oh my…**

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Thoughts on each death?**_

_**Who do you think/want to win?**_


	19. Teen Idle

**A/N: Please, please don't skip to the end.**

* * *

_**Adolescence didn't make sense; a little loss of innocence.  
The ugly years of being a fool; ain't youth meant to be beautiful?**_

* * *

**Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One**

* * *

The final cannon booms.

Blood courses hotly through my veins. Three left. We're at the finale.

I've defied the odds. Not that it was very difficult.

_Am I scared for the end?_ I think to myself as I plod along the pathways of the pools, avoiding the courtyard in particular, searching for a flash of blonde hair to clue me in to my final two competitors. _I think that at the start of this Game, I might have been terrified out of my mind, despite the harsh, vindictive front that I put up._

But now…

_I've done it. I killed those who opposed me, and I rose to the top. I slashed and I rocked and I made the heads roll. And now there's just two more to defeat before I taste the sweetest thing this world has to offer – victory._

I open my mouth, as if the very flavor of victory will flood onto my tongue that moment. I'll finally be free if I win. I won't have to censor myself; I won't have to be silenced by the glaring eye of my superiors, because I'll _be_ superior.

They could never kill me if I won. After the failed rebellion, they wouldn't hesitate to try, but the districts would be too strong if they slay another victor.

My tongue will finally be free to roam, talking about the topics that were deemed so taboo before. Freedom. Sex. Censorship. Politics. Relationships.

I'll sing loud, I'll sing proud. Nothing will be able to stop me – that's why I volunteered, after all. Everybody has something to say, motivation to say it, and a pair of lips to utter it. I sure do have something to say and the motivation, but my lips have been stitched together by my protectors – my parents and the Peacekeepers and everybody, really.

Not now.

And as I finally catch a glimpse of Deverra, rising from the shadows to meet my gaze, and Sabryn, slinking along from a nearby tiki hut, only one thought reigns true in my mind.

I will achieve, just like I've been destined to.

* * *

**Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two**

* * *

The cannon shatters the arena.

Clutching my knees, biting my lip as I draw further into myself, I hold back tears once more.

It seems I just can't stay away from crying.

I thought I had it. I thought I was done being the token stupid girl who puts up a brave front but everybody, except herself, knows that she's crumbling inside. I really thought that I was mature enough to push myself past that.

Turns out that it's just like before; I wasn't strong enough to make myself a better person.

Peridot effected me. God, he effected me so much, more than he'll ever know. I thought he was different. A person who I could get along with, but at the end of the day, if he got a spear in his ribcage, I'd be fine with that.

Guess that he just reverted me back into the girl I once was.

I sniffle, standing up, clutching my beloved katana tightly. The emotions are so overwhelming. I've basically ran throughout this entire time on adrenaline and fake hopes of making it back to One. I still carry that hope with me; it's just now, however, that I'm realizing how insanely large the stakes were.

My legs carry me out of the tiki hut. I know that it's for the better, that maybe if I just find the motivation for one final fight, then I can win. I can push past through my demons, blazing bright, and curl up into a ball in solitude, away from the cameras. I'll live as a hermit, coming out for the occasional interview. It'll be lonely, but at least it'll be something.

But in the end, what is there for a girl who pushed everybody away, thinking that it made her a better person?

Dust. Dust and hollowness.

I don't even realize how far my legs have carried me – suddenly I'm in a circle of Deverra and Lolita, both of them staring expectantly at me.

I guess that's the one thing I should thank the heavens for.

When everybody else has abandoned me, at least my feet haven't failed me.

* * *

**Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three**

* * *

Merchandise's cannon erupts, and his body draws to the top of the water.

I stare down, no tears brimming in my vision. I've shed too many for everybody; fallen allies, fallen tributes, dead people in general. I don't want to see another corpse ever again.

Beating hearts and pumping veins, that's where I want to be. Put me where the people are.

Yet, for now, I have to settle with seeing two more.

Maybe.

Dragging my feet along the concrete, not once daring to look back at Merch's floating body, I mull things over in my mind. How much I've accomplished. The things I've done. Everything I've stood for.

When I volunteered, it was stupid, I'll admit. I was naïve to think that it would be easier than it actually was. I thought it would be simple – throw a knife in somebody's windpipe and win, no strings attached. But the strings did come attached, and man, the knots on those strings were intense.

I got attached to Lynch. And Lynden. And Leander, sweet Leander. Then Zane. Even stupid Imani, no matter how much I pretended I hated her. She grew on me in the end.

I guess no matter how far you run from your home, there will always be something pulling you back to the person you once were; your roots. You can't escape yourself, and I guess, that's what I was trying to do. By trying to build a new life for myself, I was trying to evade the girl who I used to be.

But I've grown.

Physically, I'm probably a lot more banged up than I came from, in the Capitol. My hair's lighter from the tropical sun. I'm sunburnt. But mentally? I'm stronger than I was before. I'm hardened and now, I think, I know exactly who I am. I'll never lose myself again; not when I know myself so well, both inside _and_ out.

A small form presents itself in front of me, and I instantly recognize it as Lolita Trancy. Sabryn Sinclair trots up on a pool catwalk just seconds later. I take a deep breath, preparing myself.

If I make it out alive, I know one thing.

I have finally found a way to be happy.

* * *

The battle between the three girls wasn't long.

Lolita with her bow and arrow, Sabryn with her katana, and Deverra with her knife. They were all ready.

Lolita had just a couple kills to her name, Peridot and Adriana. She knew, however, that the assists she had made in others' deaths were far superior to those two.

Sabryn was more vicious, apparently – Imani, Saturninus, Eira, Leander. She had tried to find herself with each slash and stab, but ultimately failed.

Deverra had less blood on her hands. Merchandise and Zane. Only one was necessary, but that didn't daunt her. A girl had to do what a girl had to do.

They were all prepared; as ready as they ever could have been.

The first punch was thrown by Sabryn – nervous, tentative, she lashed out at Lolita with her katana. Caught off guard by this jab, Lolita earned a gash down her forearm. Only fourteen but tougher than most her age, she gritted her teeth, even managing to smile through the pain.

The Capitol sat back on their heels and wondered however she did it.

Deverra seized a chance. With Lolita reeling and Sabryn trying to gain on the young girl, she tackled her fellow blonde, smashing her smaller body to the pavement and pinning her. It was that easy – Sabryn was already weak enough, and Deverra's fire quickly consumed her.

Sure, Sabryn struggled. Like a rat caught in a trap, she squirmed. Deverra pulled out a knife, pinning Sabryn's arms down with her knees.

"Please," choked out Sabryn. "I'll do anything…"

The only thing poor Deverra could do was offer up a sad smile. "It's all part of their Game, Sabryn," she whispered, her heart weighed down by misery, like lead. "If I don't do this… who knows?"

"But you don't have to make it so… so…" Sabryn grappled with words, her head a jumble of panic and thoughts.

"So _what_?" Deverra asked, her voice barely above a breath.

Her dark eyes fading fast before the knife even sunk in, Sabryn managed to get two words out.

"So _easy_."

Those were her last words; Deverra made good use of her knife by quickly sinking it into the younger girl's neck, showing as much mercy as was possible by making it quick.

When she was alive, Sabryn had no idea. No idea of the family who loved her so much, the friends who she could have called her very own, the classmates who would sob over her death for weeks to come. Of the people she had effected for the better. Sabryn would never live to see the most isolated girl in school break down in the middle of class because she had a memory of Sabryn inviting her to her birthday party.

Her spirit would be celebrated for years to come, not just the day her casket was lowered into the dirt.

Now just Lolita and Deverra, tensions ran high. No tears were shed as Sabryn's cannon shot, ricocheting off the furthest corners of the arena. The only life left in that desolate place were the two beating hearts, going face to face in the final battle that the resort would ever see.

"I'm not throwing the first punch," Lolita said simply.

Deverra raised her eyebrows. "I never said I expected you to."

A smile popped up on Lolita's face easily, her face illuminated by the moonlight reflected off the shimmering waters of the pools. "This is going to be a long night, won't it?"

Shrugging, Deverra advanced a step. "It's up to you."

Eyes flickering, Lolita took a small step forward as well. "Ladies first."

Another step. "You're a lady too, Miss Trancy."

Another. "I always thought it polite to obey your elders," Lolita said politely.

A final step, and Deverra and Lolita were practically toe to toe. "Whatever happens here," Deverra whispered gruffly, "we respect each other. A fair fight. No cheating, no being a slime. A fair fight between two fair girls."

Lolita's eyes darkened. "Fair?"

A nod.

A forced laugh bubbled up from Lolita's throat, and she tightened her grip on her bow. "I feel like now would be an opportune time to tell the world that I never play fair."

"Then isn't now your chance?" Deverra took up Lolita's hand in hers, and she found it very cold. "To wipe your slate clean and know that even if you do die, you'll at least have repented just before? And if you win, it's a new beginning?"

Something flickered in the dark recesses of Lolita's stony little eyes, and with a hesitating hand, she dropped her quiver.

Deverra smiled widely, letting her knife clatter to the ground.

"A fair fight," Lolita said, letting the words roll over her tongue.

And with that, she charged Deverra.

Deverra was extremely caught off guard, but she managed to roll with the punches. Dropping to the ground, letting Lolita topple on top of her, the two of them rolled on the pavement for what seemed like eternity. Lolita had hit her head on the concrete. Deverra earned a long scrape up her arm. They were both injured to some extent, but their drive to keep moving was simply too strong to give up.

At some point, Lolita made her way up off the ground and made like she was running. Deverra followed at close proximity, ready to tackle the younger girl if needed.

All of a sudden, Lolita swiveled around and dove through Deverra's legs.

Caught off guard by this movement, Deverra barreled around to catch the little devil, but her shock had made her too dazed to move fast enough. She had nothing to her name, and Lolita still had that bow strung around her shoulder.

It took one quick leap over a pool and before anybody – in the districts or in the Capitol – knew it, Lolita notched an arrow and sent it flying.

_Shlunk._

Entering Deverra's torso with a wet sound, the arrow found its home.

Everybody held in a breath as Deverra staggered forward, then backwards, and forward again. Her fingers scratched her chest, trying to get a good grip on the arrow. Crimson blood blossomed over her raggedy shirt.

With a moan, she toppled to her knees.

But it wasn't over.

Lolita hopped back onto Deverra's side, curious as to why the arrow hadn't kicked into effect quite yet. She nudged the older girl's thigh with her foot.

And then Deverra looked up.

She saw galaxies in Lolita's eyes. Stars and voids and pits of black. There was so much under the younger girl's layers that nobody had discovered, and nobody would _ever_ discover – except Miss Trancy herself.

"You have so much to live for," Deverra said with her heart in her throat, pained.

Lolita stared.

"Me…" Deverra choked on a laugh. "I'm still young, but I've done what I need to do. My mission here, it's complete. I found what I've been looking for in myself. I know exactly who I am and what I wanted to achieve. I'm finally happy with myself. I don't need anything else."

Lolita's eyes cast themselves downward.

"But you… You're still so fragile, Lolita." Deverra choked again, pushing on Lolita's shin with a finger. "You're so tough. Mature beyond your age. I can tell that you've seen so many things that most people would keel over if they heard of. And I just want to say as, four years your elder, you can push past whatever drags you down, Lolita. You don't need to play dirty to get to the top – you just need to play it to what your heart tells you to do."

Lolita's mouth opened, but closed.

"You're so smart. So, so, so, smart. Your brain is bigger than this entire arena, Lolita, and God, I wish I was half as smart as you when I was fourteen." Deverra's eyes filled with tears for the first time in a while. She shook her head. "God, Lolita. You're… you really are something. You're annoying and sarcastic and slimy, but you're something."

Deverra sunk to the ground, onto her back. Her eyelids caught the sight of a single star, singled out in the constellation-filled night, and slipped shut. Her voice didn't even rise to the audacity of a whisper – Lolita strained her ears.

"I wish you the best of luck in whatever you have yet to do… _Lolita_."

And then she let go.

* * *

**A/N: Teen Idle by Marina and the Diamonds.**

* * *

_**3rd – Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two.**_

_**2nd – Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three.**_

_**1st – Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One.**_

* * *

**Dakota, you must know that Sabryn was my very first victor. And she remained that way for a long time. I loved her so much – her room to develop was so incredible. But I think I botched it a little, and I'm sorry. But I really have to let you know how amazing I thought Sabryn was. You're going to hate me for being stupid and sappy and I know you're going to kill me after you read this, but Sabryn was so fabulous to me, no matter what other people thought of her. She was real, and she was a ghost town of her own, and I loved her so much. Rest in peace, baby girl.**

**Pauric, Deverra. I'm literally tearing up what the heck. I hate this story. I hate Deverra. I hate you. No I'm joking but honestly what was Deverra… she made me feel so much. The emotions that I had with her when I was writing her… dang. I really loved the way that she made me feel, whether it was sarcasm, bubbliness, thick-skinned-ness (wtf) or just being her quiet self, striving to actually aim for a better life and to know herself… Deverra was really incredible, one of my favorites. Until I wrote this chapter she was the victor. I must let you know. Deverra…. Dang. Everybody's favorite, rest in peace.**

**BlueEyesArchangel… I connected with Lolita so much. It wasn't even funny. I'll explain more in her epilogue chapter, but… I loved Lolita. And everybody knew it.**

**I'm sure people will hate the outcome of this, and there will be maybe just a couple that will be pleased with this. It's my decision, however, and in the end, it's who I think would have made the best victor. And in this case… Little Miss Perfect stole the trophy.**

**This story has been such a rollercoaster. I literally want to vent out my feels here but it's almost eleven and we still have one chapter to go, and… ugh. Love love love love love to all of you.**

**whY Am i teARINg uP i HATE fanfICTioN**

* * *

**Questions.**

* * *

_**Thoughts on each POV?**_

_**Thoughts on each finalist?**_

_**Are you happy with the victor?**_

_**General thoughts?**_


	20. This Isn't the End

.

* * *

_**So don't fall back, keep fighting, out of your eyes, she's rising.**_

* * *

**Lolita Trancy, 14, Victor of the 100th Hunger Games**

* * *

Nobody was very happy with me as a victor.

They wanted Deverra, the girl who had passion, motivation, good looks, and intelligence. They wanted Leander, the soft-spoken guy who snared everybody's ethos. They wanted Lynch, the gentle giant who wouldn't crush a fly. They wanted Imani, the direct antagonist who had eyes like ice. They even wanted Sabryn, for her fantastic development inside the arena.

But nobody wanted the malnourished, scrappy, unattractive, smarmy little brat from District One who did nothing but spread some acidic words around.

In fact, when I got home, the first thing my mother did was take one look at me and ask where Imani's funeral would be held so she could attend.

I didn't answer her, though I knew very well. (They'd hold a mass funeral for the public in the Town Square featuring the dolled-up bodies where citizens and some select Capitolites could blow kisses and offer up flowers, and then they'd pass the corpses onto the families to hold smaller, private funerals and burials.)

But I wasn't about to tell her that. Why would she want to attend the funeral of a girl who I had killed not with my own hands, but with just my evil deeds?

I'd just pushed past her and went straight to my father.

He was beaming. He was proud. He reached his arms out for a big old father-daughter hug, and I was more than glad to give it to him. It was held from me for so long; the arena tried to strip it of me more than once.

But I never would have let that happen.

Who knows what the years ahead would hold for me? Would I be able to speak out, without fear of being silenced? Or would they use me as somebody to avoid, somebody who you didn't want your child to grow up into?

At fourteen, you're not supposed to be tearing open other peoples' throats and watching their vocal chords snap. You're supposed to be in school, penciling in answers to tests and laughing with friends. It's not supposed to be atypical.

But I never was your average fourteen-year-old, was I?

I was never typical at all.

And everybody knew it.

* * *

_In the two years to come, Lolita had numerous interviews throughout the Capitol. After attending many parties and getting a bit wild with some older Capitolites and even some other mentors, the fourteen-year-old became addicted to alcohol and a drug known as morphling, and was soon known as one of the worst influences that the Games had to offer since Lana Fidelis scraped herself off the dirty ground._

_She had been addicted to words deemed unspeakable; an honorable thing. But now her obsession was brandy and beer and needles, and the beautiful words that had described the girl in the past no longer fit._

_Lolita was infamous as a terrible mentor, barely dragging by two years of mentoring the tributes, each of them older than her. Pelly Harrequin and Lincoln Albea, the other two young victors of District One, tried so hard to help her. They did their best._

_But not even Lolita could have foreseen what the future held for her._

_She was on a train to the Capitol for her third year as a mentor. It was late at night – three in the morning, to be precise. Lincoln and Pelly were both asleep in their own respective train cars. Lolita, her tongue lusting for some brandy, wobbled down to the dining car. She wanted the buzz._

_They said it was an accident. They said that nobody could have prevented what happened next._

_Lolita supposedly drank herself into a stupor, thoughts of violence and sex riddling her mind, and was found by Pelly at six in the morning, staring out listlessly at the Capitol as they drove in. He waved his hand in front of her gaze. She didn't respond._

_And then he saw the blood trickling down from her cracked lips, leaving a trail of maroon down her porcelain chin._

_Something was wrong. There was just one bottle clutched in her small white hands, but none other around the car anywhere. One bottle wouldn't have done her in, and no needles were found anywhere on the train. If only she had been able to speak; she would have complained endlessly about the fire in her stomach, the snapping aches in her head, and the whispers in her mind that had never been there before._

_Further investigation of the brandy bottle showed that there was something fishy in the liquid. Terrible drugs, ones usually injected into the bloodstream of rabid animals to put them down quickly. It wouldn't kill her immediately, but it would burn her from the inside before it did._

_And as Pelly clutched her cold, stiff hand, Lolita's dead eyes told him that that was exactly what had happened. But he didn't know. His eyes were too clouded with tears to see anything but a sitting corpse._

_But who had slipped the stuff in?_

_Sick of her taboo topics being brought up on every interview she went to, President Violette declared the incident an 'accident' made by silly doctors on the train. It was all too easy. _

_Lolita Trancy was dead at the ripe age of sixteen, killed by her own words and deeds._

_If she had been alive to witness her death, she would have declared it the right way to go, and fitting, too. There was nothing more she had liked than a good brushing of controversy._

_She would have finally been happy with herself._

_Very happy indeed._

* * *

**A/N: This Isn't the End by Colton Dixon.**

* * *

**I can't believe that this is over. I want to personally thank everybody who made this story possible, each of the submitters, each of the reviewers and favoriters and followers. I enjoyed writing this story the most so far – and personally, I think it was a success, despite the controversial victor.**

**But I connected with her. So that's that.**

**Honestly, this story has gone by so fast. I still remember everybody so well, from Ferric Gauvin (yes, I've spelled it wrong this entire time) to Briana Valleri to Jaiden Castiel to Cheyenne Macrae. Every one of the tributes was loved.**

**And I love all of you.**

* * *

**Questions, for the last time!**

* * *

_**Thoughts on the epilogue?**_

_**Favorite overall tribute?**_

_**Favorite overall moment?**_

_**Favorite overall chapter? **_


End file.
